


Of Love and Monsters, or, What I Did On My Summer Apocalypse

by Pdxtrent



Category: Love and Monsters (2020), Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Constructive Criticism Welcome, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Gen, Getting Together, Happy Ending, I can’t really decide which this is exactly, Love and Monsters AU, Love and Monsters fusion, M/M, Monster Apocalypse, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Road Trips, Spark Stiles Stilinski, chapter one is a journal entry in first person, the rest is in third person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:13:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 36,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27548131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pdxtrent/pseuds/Pdxtrent
Summary: 7 years after the apocalypse Stiles sets out to find his high school girlfriend Heather who he’s discovered is still alive in a world overrun with monsters. Along the way he meets Boy, an unusually intelligent dog with his own past tragedies (and who refuses to be called Dude) and the mysterious Argent clan who seem to know more than anyone should, and may be connected to several terrible deaths.Thank you to snowqueenlou the best beta reader one could hope for. She is the reason this isn't an incoherent mess of typos and tenses and completely missing parts of the story.
Relationships: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Heather & Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 200
Kudos: 206





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kalika_999](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> First, I want to make it clear this is not in first person. Only the journal entry at the beginning and the one at the end are, everything else is in third person. 
> 
> Second, I want to thank Kalika_999, without whom you would not be getting this story. She has been patient while I’ve had ideas and scrapped them until I saw the trailer for Love and Monsters snd proceeded to watch it like 20 times before the movie came out.

6-3-2028

I’m writing this down here in case something goes wrong, so it doesn’t all get forgotten, and so maybe someone can let my dad and friends know what happened to me. And if not, maybe it’s something someone finds in a hundred years when the world is all different again, in which case, hi, my name is Stiles Stilinski. I’m 23, a Virgo and I like dogs and baseball. Since I don’t know who’ll be reading this, let me tell you a little about me, and how the world got like this.

To start, I don’t really think this was an apocalypse any of us could have predicted. The asteroid part wasn’t a surprise. Death from above was a staple in Hollywood after all, until it really happened.

The bombs weren’t much of a surprise either. Like, we used to have an actual Doomsday Clock that counted how close we were to using those fuckers, so yeah, no surprise there.

So let me set the scene: It was April of 2021. Things were starting to get back to what we used to call normal, (For a given value of normal). When scientists announced they’d caught sight of an asteroid just beyond Mars headed towards the inner solar system. We were told it would pass near earth but miss us, and so we ignored it. 

And then Mars interfered. 

Well, more specifically, an asteroid named K14EP3K in orbit near Mars interfered. It was a small asteroid, and dark. And it didn’t shift the incoming asteroid’s trajectory much. It didn’t need to. 

It became apparent fairly quickly afterward that the asteroid, which quickly got the media nickname Sunset (that's when it was scheduled to hit on west coast time, media people weren’t very imaginative,) was going to hit earth. But as it turns out, the US military, paranoid fuckers that they were, actually had a plan for that, and a virtually unlimited budget. 

So we had time, and a plan, and more than enough atomic bombs to blow up 1000 giant asteroids. The asteroid was going to get close enough for us to see it, but it would all end with them blowing it into lots of tiny pieces and a night or two of some pretty fucking amazing meteor showers.

I watched them blow it up.

I think everyone on the right side of the earth watched it. This was like real live Star Wars you know? Blowing up planets and shit, and who wouldn’t watch that? It was low in the sky for us, higher for Europe and the east coast. I’ve heard the effects were worse there, but I’ve never met anyone who’s been there personally.

No one knows exactly what happened. If it was what the asteroid was made of, or it was because of the bombs, but when the bombs hit the asteroid it disintegrated into a flash of light. There was an explosion, then another and another, just like the experts had said. But then the light doubled and doubled again. And the earth shook and groaned and then it was like I was being stretched apart and snapped together all at once. 

And then I fainted, like every other person I’ve ever met since.

And when we woke up, the world was changed completely.

The light, whatever it’s source, had changed things in its passing. It’s sort of the Before/After of our new world and most people just call it the Event. It’s better than the Happening I guess. But it still shows a sad lack of imagination, and if this was on TV I’d make fun of the writers. 

Anyway, the Event changed almost everything. It changed trees, and animals, and us. It changed so many of us. Maybe because there were so many of us to begin with.

Some of us stayed human like my dad, or close enough. Some of us gained strange powers that we can only call magic, like I did.

I’m what we call a Spark. I can’t, like, do spells or anything (or if I can I don’t have the slightest idea how), but I can make things like light, heat, and fire - that sort of thing. Sparks aren’t common apparently, but not that rare either. There’s a woman in a bunker not far from us that they call the Stormcaller, who can control wind and rain, and even lightning. I swear they didn’t just call her Storm because they’re afraid she’ll figure out how to fly away, or maybe they’re afraid Disney is still around somewhere and their lawyers will descend like a horde of zombies.

No, there are no zombies. Well, not that I know of. 

But anyway, some people, and some animals, changed far more. Sometimes we can still recognize what they used to be. I saw a creature once from a distance, before we retreated into the bunkers, that was twenty feet tall and had clearly started out as a person. Of course she was eating a regular sized person, one limb at a time, so I didn’t stop her to ask her name to see if she was still sentient, or if the change took as well as gave. 

We call them all the fae now, all the worst hit. The ones that have changed into monsters. the things in the night, we named after creatures from legends. 

There’s another part of my story that I should probably mention. My girlfriend Heather. And she’s really where this story all begins, I guess. Because Heather and I got separated during the Troubles. That’s what we call the period just after things changed. 

A lot of people died. The ones who didn’t become monsters, became food for the ones who did. 

I remember the first one I ever saw. It was some flying thing. Glossy gray feathers like a cross between a pigeon and a crow, and a face like a nightmare. No beak, and more teeth than a swamp of alligators, and the size of a medium dog. Harpies we call them now, and thankfully they’re actually pretty easy to kill because they breed like mosquitoes. 

Honestly it’s the little things I miss. Not just electricity and stuff that stopped working during the Event, but things like laundry soap. I miss the scent of Tide. It always makes me think of home, it’s the scent of Beacon Hills in my mind. 

Most of the surviving humans, or those of us that are mostly human, have retreated to bunkers for safety. We tried to stay in our homes, in our cities, but there’s too many of them, and not enough of us. 

I guess I should tell you about the people here in the bunker with me. My pod. I got lucky because I have my dad here with me. My mom died before the Troubles when I was nine and it was just my dad and me for a long time, even before Sunset.

My best friend Scott and his mom are here too. Scott is the best, like a brother, but one I actually like instead of just see at holidays. His mom’s name is Melissa, and unfortunately, though Scott and I have tried for years, his mom and my dad refuse to realize they’d be perfect together. They’ve friendzoned themselves, it’s so sad. 

Melissa was a nurse before, and during the event she got the power to heal with a touch. Not like, raise Lazarus from the dead type thing, but if she’s tending your wounds they’ll heal, and faster and better than any medicine managed before. We’re so lucky to have her here because without her a lot of us wouldn’t have made it.

Next is my sort of ex girlfriend Malia, who’s totally awesome and who’s currently dating Theo, who used to live in another bunker not far away but who recently moved in, and who is basically a piece of human excrement. He’s also decided that Scott should be his new best friend since he got here, and I’m getting a little tired of being second place to Theo.

There’s also Jackson who I’ve known since we were eight, and who is marginally better than he was in high school. He can shapeshift into an incredibly gross lizard thing that looks suspiciously like the iguana he had before the event. Being part iguana doesn’t explain the neurotoxic venom in his tail though. 

To be fair, that might just be because it’s Jackson. If anyone deserves a venomous tail it’s him. Jackson’s best friend Danny is here too. And somehow for being Jackson’s best friend, he’s inexplicably not terrible. Plus there’s Ethan, the boyfriend they share in some way I don’t even claim to understand. Ethan used to have a twin brother named Aiden who died in the Troubles. He was one of the last ones we lost. 

There’s also Jordan, who was one of my dad's deputies before the Event, and who we thought was totally normal until he got attacked one day and literally exploded into flame. He’s basically invulnerable when he’s on fire, which is awesome. Annoyingly his fire is the only kind I can’t seem to control. 

Last, and the most recent to join us before Stupid Theo, is Jordan’s girlfriend, Braeden, who is awesome, and terrifying and the most dangerous person I’ve actually ever met. Seriously she can kill you in about 300 ways without a weapon. And she had a lot of weapons. This is because before she joined us she was a Hunter. 

Which I guess leads to the Hunters. 

What do I say about the Society of Hunters? Because honestly, a lot of what is generally thought about them is just guessing. 

The Society emerged in the Troubles. They were the only semi-reliable way to get information from one town to another once the Fae really got bad. But my dad has a theory that they existed before. Like a secret society of some sort. And I agree, because I think it’s nearly impossible for someone to get that good at that many weapons, as quickly as they appeared after the Event. They’re secretive. Even Braeden, who isn’t even one of them anymore, keeps their secrets. Personally I think it’s the only way they let her leave, but Scott says that’s just my paranoia talking. 

The Society kills the worst of the Fae, the truly monstrous ones. They have a code, it’s in French so it sounds fancy: "Nous chassons ceux qui nous chassent." It means ‘We hunt those who hunt us.’ They also keep information and messages flowing between the bunkers.

Why is this all important you ask? Well, a while back two Hunters visited us. We’re not a major bunker, there’s only 11 of us, so we don’t see the Hunters too often, and we’re in a relatively safe zone. 

One night the younger guy, whose name was Matt, got drunk with me on this sort of gross but easy to make potato alcohol that Danny and I finally figured out about a year ago. It’s not really much like vodka but it does the trick. And we got to talking, and I told him about Heather, my girlfriend before the Troubles. And he actually knew her. 

They’d just been at her Bunker a month or two before, in fact. It’s a bigger one, on the coast, not even that far away. Maybe 6 or 7 nights above ground for an average person he thought. He said she’s not dating anyone, and hasn’t since he’s been going there. 

I got an old map of California I had from before the Event, and he showed me where her bunker was, and a couple of safe bunkers that might welcome visitors along the way. He wasn’t really familiar with the area between us and there, since he’d come a different way, but suggested I talk to another group of hunters who lived close by, the Argents. He also gave me some basics on things hs did know, like areas to avoid. A few places where the fae were particularly bad, and a couple who were unkillable as far as the Hunters had found, one of which was, he swore, a dragon. 

The next day the Hunters left. And I was left here with my map, thinking about Heather. I wondered if she’s been waiting for me to find her all these years. I know it seems silly, but why else wouldn’t she have found someone since? Maybe it was fate. Or she’d gotten the power to see the future and knew I’d come someday. There were a lot of possibilities. 

I know that I’m lucky. It’s safe here. I have my dad, and I will never take that for granted. There’s Scott and Melissa too, and we’re basically like family. And there’s my other friends. Even stupid Theo and Occasionally Still a Jackass Jackson. But now I also know that Heather is out there, and it’s not like it was before I knew that.

I spent the last couple of months studying the map, making a plan and figuring out what I’d need. I talked to Braeden and Jordan, who both spend more time on the surface than anyone else. The first being incredibly dangerous and the other unkillable. Plus I think they like sex in dangerous situations. 

So I’ve made notes and I’ve got a plan. 

And that leads us to tomorrow.

Because tomorrow is the day. I’m setting off to find Heather’s bunker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story really gets started in the next chapter of course, but I wanted to set up what was different than the movie. I will add that I’m already working on chapter 4, and chapters 2 and 3 are in edits. Expect this to go up fast. I hit almost 4000 words last night. Which is very fast for me. 
> 
> Comments and questions and kudos are life. I usually answer fairly quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles wanted to say that everything went perfect. That his plan worked like clockwork. But that wasn’t the case. Like the first day of any road trip it’s when the problems show up. 

He looked at his map again, and checked his dad’s old compass, confident with the directions he had there was no way to go the wrong direction. He’d been wrong. He was making his way through the old Beacon Hills Preserve, which Matt the Hunter said was usually kept really clear of the fae, because of the wild dogs Stiles and his bunker pod used to be able to hear howling at night. When they first heard them, Stiles used to think they were wolves, but his dad pointed out it had only been seven years since the Event, and since there hasn’t been wolves in their part of California in fifty years, it was likely just dogs who had gone feral. 

Stiles had not pointed out they didn’t know what the Event might have done to the dogs. 

But the Hunter said the dogs in the Preserve avoided people, though were vicious towards the dangerous fae, so it should probably be a safe way to go, and generally headed towards the coast. He gave Stiles instructions on where a group of the Hunters named Argent had built a compound on the edge of what used to be Beacon Hills, and told him to ask for Chris when he got there.

He also told Stiles not to flirt with Argent’s daughter, because she had threatened Matt’s life when he had tried to flirt with her. 

She sounded terrifying. Stiles was intrigued.

Matt told him to follow the river through the Preserve. And he did for awhile, but then he got caught in some bushes and trees and tried to go around, to get back to the river. It was an hour before he realized he had no idea where the river was anymore. It was a big river and he had no idea how he had lost it. 

So he tried to head back the direction where he thought the river was, and he eventually stumbled over a huge burned-out mansion in the middle of the woods.

At first he took it to be a new ruin, a house that had managed to escape the early days of the Troubles. But after a few moments he realized he could barely smell a hint of the char even up close, and looking closely he realized there were deep signs of weathering. This was an older tragedy then, from before the Event most likely, or soon after. He glanced at the sun, low on the horizon and realized it was getting late, and the ruin might be the best shelter he’d find from the fae for the night since he had managed to lose the river. 

When he stepped up on the porch, the boards creaked and groaned, warped by the heat of the flames and the passage of time. 

When he stepped inside he noticed the floor was gaping open into a basement below. He closed his eyes and called up light, as he made his way around the edges, to a cement staircase that went down. He made his way down the steps, until he thought he heard a sound from above him and paused. But the sound didn’t repeat itself. He wondered if it was some fae unknown to the Hunters, but when nothing else happened he took another step and then another until he got to the bottom. 

The basement was full of debris, but there was a room, secured with a heavy lock on the outside of a solid metal door, though it opened when he tried the knob. He wasn’t sure what to expect, maybe a pantry or some kind of storage, but what he found seemed to have been some kind of dog kennel or something. It was empty except for the thousands and thousands of deep claw marks gouged into the concrete walls, and even the metal of the door. 

With a dog like that he could understand why it opened inward and locked from the outside. 

He set down his backpack. It was likely the most secure location he was going to find and as long as the door stayed open, he couldn’t be locked in, and he had another way to keep the doorway secure. He let the light fill the room and stepped back out into the basement. 

Above him he thought he heard another noise, this time it sounded like a dog growling, and he remembered the feral dogs the Hunters had mentioned, and that he’d heard in the Preserve at night. Cautiously he stepped over to the door and looked up, seeing the shadow of a large dog in the light he’d created. He smiled to himself, everyone knows wild dogs feared fire, he thought, and let the light shift to flame, and felt the ghostly rush of heat as the fire roared and rose, filling the basement and surprising him by waking an echo in the charred remains around him. 

Stiles had felt that power before, on occasion. He’d noticed that some trees, when you burned them, held an echo of the fire, and it could be useful. The house was a better choice than he’d known. He heard the dog yip and scramble for the door, and he felt a little bad about scaring and evicting it. But if it was the one responsible for the scratches in that room, he was nervous to have it around at night while he slept. 

He let the fire dwindle and shift back to pure light, though the power it had awakened in the ash and cinders remained. Waiting. Anyone stepping on them or any sound would be a warning for him until the power faded in the morning sunlight. Magic lingered at night, but it took constant effort to maintain it during the day.

Learning the ins and outs of his power had been frustrating and time consuming, but he’d learned the best he could, the same as anyone. And now, except for Jordan’s special fire, it always answered his call. 

In the light he could see another door across the basement, half hidden by fallen timbers from the collapsed floor, which made him think maybe the house had burned more recently than he thought. An underground door against an outer wall in a basement hadn’t been an uncommon addition in the early days of the Troubles.

He stepped closer, picking his way around the half-burned rubble to try the door, but it was locked. He tried to throw the deadbolt but it wouldn’t budge, until he tried it in reverse. The door was unlocked from the inside. He pushed on it again, and could feel the slight give, so the door wasn’t too warped to move. He realized it had to be blocked from the other side, in the escape tunnel. Strange. He wondered if it had been barred after the residents fled whatever fae had gotten inside and set the fire. Or if something had taken up residence in the tunnel. He felt a chill go up his spine and he flipped the deadbolt to lock it. 

He made his way back to the room. Above him, he heard something move almost silently, He glanced up and saw a familiar shadow slip away. The dog was back. He almost sent the flames up again and then hesitated. He suspected he was in the dog’s old home, but the dog had made no move to come down the stairs, and Stiles wondered if maybe he might be an added layer of protection against any fae. 

He finally shrugged and decided he could always scare him away again with the fire later if he tried to get at him.

He created a small fire in the room, more for ambience than need and pulled out one of the small metal containers he’d brought with him. 

Summoning fire was the first thing he had learned to do, though it was tricky and almost the last thing he felt confident saying he could really control. Light was easy once he had the trick figured out. But the most difficult ability in his repertoire was summoning heat, or the reverse, cold. He still wasn’t sure where it came from or where it went, and he had only the barest idea on how the science of it might even work, because he definitely remembered Isaac Newton and energy not being created or destroyed.

Regardless, he opened the lid of the container and revealed a small frozen pot of stew he’d made up before he left. Potatoes and carrots that they’d seeded the area around the bunker with over the years, with added chunks of squirrel. A few moments later the container began to radiate heat and a delicious rich scent rose up. He’d learned early on you needed to let the metal heat and cool fairly slowly or it would eventually get brittle or warp, but he had the process down now.

He pulled out a fork and started in on his meal and pulled his journal out to write.

After he was done he called the fire over and used it to clean the fork and container, and when they were clean he put the lid back on and put it back in his bag. 

Then, not ready to sleep yet, he let the flames dance up higher and created a roughly human figure out of light, which stepped out of the flames. Then slowly but knowingly he bent the light, first to capture shape and motion, and then gradually adding color and texture. He’d already decided whose shape he’d use. The better he knew a face the easier it was.

When he was done, his father stood before him, like the man himself had stepped through the miles. 

“Hello pops,” Stiles said, and the illusion smiled at him and then rolled his eyes like the man himself would.

The illusions were a kind of art. To look at, they were almost indistinguishable from the real thing, though you couldn’t touch them. When he was first learning, everyone could tell the illusion from reality. Then as he got better, and he started to pull pranks like make an open door appear to be just a few feet further along a wall, everyone had grown more watchful.

Jackson for some reason could always tell, perhaps some trick of his reptile eyes, or maybe he could see heat, he’d never admit which. But everyone else had threatened to kill him a hundred times a week during the worst of it. He thought it was pretty obvious they all enjoyed the tricks until they were the one on the receiving end.

He let his art and power flow, and felt a strange answering call from the ash outside, still alive from the fire. He thought for a moment, feeling that slight pull and odd strength. He called the ash and it came to him, as obedient as the fire though far more solid. The ash slithered along the ground until it rose up, twining up and into the figure of his father. 

As the ash poured in, he shaped it to his will, just like the light or the fire. There were a few false steps, but years of experience at binding light itself had given him an advantage, and pretty quickly he had the trick of using the ash figured out. His father reached out his hand, and Stiles took it, and flailed a little as the man pulled him up to his feet.

“Son of a-“ he bit off, so surprised he had actually lost his grip on the illusion and the light and fire burst free and the ash started to drift to the floor as he regained his balance. 

But he recovered quickly and pulled the ash and fire and light back together. He reached out and the man was solid and warm to the touch. 

For one of the few times since his power had first shown up he felt chills. Possibly only actually summoning fire that first time had shocked him more. His mind started to race with the potential uses, when behind him he heard a low growling sound and as he turned around he felt the illusion fall apart and rush forward as the dog stepped towards the light, his eyes almost seeming to glow for a moment as the light caught them. 

As soon as the illusion vanished the dog stopped growling, then wheeled into the darkness and disappeared. 

“Idiot,” he breathed at the stupidity of his inattention, which could have gotten him killed. He was thankful the dog wasn’t particularly aggressive despite the scratches in the wall. He had gotten fixated, and hadn’t noticed the dog approaching, an oversight that could get him killed quickly in the world outside the bunkers.

As he lay down he let his power fill the ash and light, and used it to place an illusion of blank wall over the doorway, then he fell asleep, knowing the morning light would wake him up when the sun hit the illusion and shattered it.

—————

The next morning he woke up before the sun had the chance to take down the illusion of the door. He let his power warm the air around him which had cooled in the night, and then he let the illusion fall.

He half expected the dog to be outside the doorway again, but he wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and Stiles quickly pulled out an apple and a chunk of the hard goat cheese they traded for with one of the nearby bunkers. It wasn’t nearly as good as the variety of cheeses he could remember from before the Event, because some days he honestly thought he’d kill for a taste of feta. But it was cheese, and it was good. 

He finished eating and put everything back in his bag, and hesitated for a moment as he touched the empty metal canister from the night before. Stiles pulled it out and opened the lid, calling to the ash whose fire was already fading but not yet gone, and it came flowing along the ground, hissing softly and then rose and settled into the container, filling it. He put it away and swung his backpack on before glancing around outside the door and heading back up the steps. 

Upstairs he wandered around a bit, eventually making it to a room he recognized had been the kitchen. 

He had that feeling he got sometimes, where his eyes had seen something, but his conscious mind hasn’t caught up yet. The feeling gripped him suddenly as he stood in the doorway of a mostly burned out kitchen. And then he noticed them. 

There were footprints in the ash of the floor. Mostly dogs, but here and there he could see the barefoot impression of what looked like a human footprint. 

He wondered if they were the footprints of other humans, or if fae had visited here as well. He shrugged and went back out on the porch, and pulled the precious compass out of his pocket along with the map. 

He regretted again that he didn’t have the big map of Beacon County that used to hang in his father’s office. With the state map it was hard to determine where he might have gone wrong. But looking at the map, he could see where the river seemed to turn and head north for awhile, and since he hadn’t crossed it he should be able to head west and run into it. 

He shrugged one shoulder to shift the backpack a bit and then went down the stairs, and turned west. As he went past the corner of the house he caught sight of a mound of dirt that looked quite fresh. He hesitated and moved closer. Then closer again, unsure if the mound was from some fae hiding during the daylight hours, or something else.

When he got closer he realized that it was a grave and he stopped when he saw a stone with a name, surrounded by freshly planted purple flowers. 

Laura Hale 

1987-2028

The name and dates on the stone were simple. Scratched in with a nail or something similar. Stiles stood there a moment before he spoke.

“Hi Laura,” he said. “I don’t know you, but I’m guessing those were your footprints I saw inside.” He fell silent for a moment. “I wonder what happened to you. You survived the troubles. You were still young.” He fell silent again, then bent and touched her gravestone, “Rest in peace.” 

He felt better for acknowledging her, after staying in what he suspected was once her house. He stood back up and started to head west, but not far away he saw something gleam in the light, then another and another. He bent down and picked one up. And then another.

Shell casings from a rifle. 

He frowned when he saw they had something stamped in them, and when he looked at it and let the light roll over it he could see it was the old New Orleans Saints logo. 

It was the most random thing, and he almost threw it back to the side, but then decided it would make a good souvenir of the trip for Scott, who still missed watching old school gridiron football.

He knelt and checked the other casings in case there was a Patriots one, but they all had the same Saints logo. Clearly someone was a fan.

He slipped them into his pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, yes that is a plot you see there! And right there in the first real chapter, who am I?  
> The world building on this story came really easy and the plotline was a great fusion of the two. I’m having so much fun writing it. 
> 
> As always comments and kudos keep me going.


	3. Chapter 3

He checked the compass again and headed off, re-checking the direction regularly. He stopped to look behind him a couple of times, certain he heard something back there, but there was nothing to see. 

It wasn’t until he stopped near a small stream a couple of hours later for lunch that things changed. The water was the first he’d seen since the day before, and he finished off the water in his metal canteen then refilled it and let the temperature rise inside it til it would have been boiling if the lid was off. He left it that way for a couple of minutes while he pulled out another apple and piece of cheese to snack on, and then pulled the heat back out of the water. 

He watched the water in the stream for a few minutes then looked up at the cloudless summer sky. The hunters had been right, he hadn’t seen a single fae in the Preserve, and he wondered what kept them away - if it was just the dogs. 

It wasn’t until he turned and looked back up the hill that he realized he wasn’t alone anymore. 

Less than ten feet away from him was a huge black dog laying in the shadows, the scrap of something red laying next to his head as he lay watching Stiles intently. 

Stiles froze and then relaxed, before finally saying, “Hey boy, I didn’t see you there.” 

The dog didn’t move, but kept watching him. Stiles hesitated a moment before reaching into his bag, but didn’t miss the way the dog tensed up when he moved. He slowly pulled out a piece of cheese, and breaking off a small bit he held it out towards the dog, who ignored it and continued to watch him.

He said, “C'mon dude, it’s good. Like, not feta or anything, but it’s cheese and actually tastes like cheese.” 

The dog pinned his ears and made a half growling noise in his throat. It didn’t sound friendly but also not like he was about to get his throat ripped out. 

Stiles sighed and dropped his hand to the ground. Then, shrugging he took a bite of the cheese. Because he wasn’t going to let good cheese go to waste. He heard two crows not far away making a racket in the trees like they do when they’re angry or when they saw a harpy, and he turned away to track where they were. A moment later just as he caught sight of them, he felt soft fur touch the hand with the cheese in it and then it vanished, taking the cheese with it. He turned back as quick as he could to see the dog sitting up back where he’d been, the cheese was gone.

He snorted. “Rude, Dude.” 

The dog pinned his ears and half growled again. 

“Do you want more?” Stiles asked, breaking off another piece of the cheese and holding it out. 

The dog’s ears shifted forward and this time he did finally move, sitting up and taking the first hesitant step forward. 

“That’s it boy,” he said, and this time the dog didn’t pin his ears or growl, but took another step, then a couple more and was right next to Stiles. He was a big dog like really big, and something made Stiles think he might be at least part wolf due to the size alone, plus there was something wild in the way he looked. The dog sniffed at the offered cheese and then delicately took it in his teeth, before taking a step away and laying back down to watch Stiles. 

Stiles broke off another piece of the cheese and leaned forward, “Here boy,” he said softly, and the dog leaned forward and took it. 

Stiles smiled and leaned forward with the last piece of cheese, “Here you go dude,” he said, and the dog pinned his ears, looked away and growled.

Stiles had grown up with a cop for a dad. He was observant and smart, and he knew the first rule: once is chance, twice is coincidence, but three times is a pattern. 

“Okay, no ‘dude’ it is. How about Miguel?” he said to the dog, who turned back and looked at him, ears still pinned, and then looked away again. 

“Okay, and no Miguel either,” Stiles said. “But you’re okay with ‘boy?’” 

The dog looked at him like he was an idiot. Stiles was catching on that the dog was definitely far more intelligent than any pre-Event dog, and wondered if this was why the dog was all alone. He wondered how lonely it would be to be the only intelligent member of an entire species. 

“Okay, got it,” Stiles said. “Boy it is.” 

Boy looked at him with the grumpy look that Stiles had decided was just his default. 

Stiles looked at the sky, the sun riding high, if he was going to get back to the river and make it to the Argents he should get going. 

“I need to get going,” Stiles said, “Do you want to come with me?” The dog looked back toward the house, and then at Stiles, before getting up and starting back up the hill. 

“Okay, I guess that’s a no,” Stiles said. But before he could continue, Boy stopped and picked up the red cloth he’d been laying next to before and came back to Stiles, looking up at him. “Oh. Do you want me to carry that for you?” he asked and started to reach down, only for Boy to growl and back away.

“Okay, no-go on the carrying, got it buddy,” Stiles said.

Boy stopped moving and waited for Stiles to start moving, then walked after him. 

The afternoon passed by quickly. He pointed things out to the dog, and told him about his dad and his life before, his old Jeep that used to be his mom’s and was now a precious relic of his old life, though without gasoline it’s only use was as a place to go outside the bunker. 

Boy responded with a combination of snorts, growls, and judging looks that Stiles found delightful. 

When they finally found the river, Stiles was hot and sweaty and he started toward the water, which was deep and cool looking in the shade away from the summer heat. 

Just as he started to lean forward to reach out for some of the cool water, Boy started to growl, low and urgent, like he meant it this time. 

Stiles looked at him, and he was staring at the water intently, so Stiles looked back at the water, but didn’t see anything. He trusted that Boy didn’t have a fear of deep water and it was something else, so he backed away from the river until the dog stopped growling. 

“Are we safe from it here?” Stiles asked, and the dog gave him a look that seemed mostly satisfied, which he took as a yes. So Stiles, inquisitive idiot that he was, picked up a rock a little bigger than a double fist and tossed it into the edge of the water. 

The river exploded. 

Hundreds of tentacles writhed towards the shore and both Stiles and Boy scrambled away. From a comfortable distance back up the slope he looked down at the thing that had almost gotten him. It was a mottled gray green thing that looked like a cross between an octopus and a sea anemone. 

Slowly it stopped writhing its limbs in the air, and Stiles watched it slip itself back under the water, and once it stopped moving it was completely camouflaged. If Stiles had touched the water like he planned there was no way he’d have survived. Then he wondered how many he’d passed the day before unknowingly.

Suddenly he felt a heavy weight hit him and knock him to the ground. He flailed and lashed out as the growling monster that knocked him over pawed and growled at him. When he finally got his head where he could see, he realized it was just Boy, who had knocked him down.

The dog made three bark growls then he stepped back, giving Stiles a look that pointed out, without a single word, that he was an idiot for not listening to Boy’s warning. 

Then the dog turned back and picked back up the red cloth Stiles was almost certain now was a shirt. Which, when combined with the house and fresh grave where they’d met made him suspect that the shirt may once have belonged to Laura Hale. 

“Ouch,” Stiles said. “I’m pretty sure I’m too wounded to move, Boy.” 

The dog gave him one of those grumpy looks and started back down the slight hill away from the spot where the tentacled thing was. Stiles sighed and sat up, climbing to his feet.

“Way to abandon me in my hour of need, Boy. What happened to man’s best friend? There’s no loyalty anymore.” He jogged a little to catch up. 

“Hey Boy,” he said after a few minute and the dog looked over, still super judgey-faced, “Thanks for saving my life.” 

The dog made a sound and ignored him for awhile, but after a half hour or so he found a place he was willing to let Stiles approach the river. Stiles noticed that the riverbank here was worn differently than the other spots he’d approached, and realized the way they had been worn down was because of the tentacles reaching onto shore. His eyes widened when he realized the one he’d seen had been fairly small. 

He took out his canteen and polished it off, then dipped it in and filled it, heated it, and let the bacteria die before he let it cool again. It was harder than at night even in the shade, under the trees, and it gave the water a slightly flat metallic taste, but it was safer than unfiltered river water. 

Boy watched him with interest, like he was curious about what he had done. So Stiles explained about his magic, about being a spark, which Boy seemed to think was at least as interesting as anything else he’d said to him all day. 

After they had drank their fill and rested, they started walking again, not too close to the river and he explained about his illusions and then hesitantly about the special ash from Laura’s house and how it added a solidity to his illusions they’d lacked before. 

Boy listened intently and Stiles thought he looked almost pleased by what Stiles said, or at least satisfied by some part of his explanation. 

Eventually Boy started to wander off into the woods nearby, checking out smells or sounds Stiles assumed. 

_ I’m still going to call you Dude, _ Stiles thought to himself, just not out loud, and smiled at the dog as he jogged into view again, and gave him another of those particularly grumpy looks like he could read Stiles mind. Then a horrible thought occurred to him that maybe Boy could read his mind. 

He tested the theory for the next hour of their walk, he’d think something at the dog who’d ignore it completely, and then say something out loud, which he might ignore or respond with one of his looks. 

Stiles decided if Boy could read thoughts, the dog didn’t want to reveal it, and moved onto explaining to the dog about the blue ringed octopus and wondering what the Event might have done to them. 

The change in their routine when it happened, happened fast. Stiles was telling Boy about his childhood love of peanut butter and mayonnaise sandwiches, which got him a very judgey look, when Boy turned, sniffed and growled, pinning his ears back before circling in front of Stiles legs, forcing him to a stop. Stiles listened but couldn’t hear anything. The sun was getting low in the west, and he knew he had to be getting close to Argents. 

“Do you know how to get to Argent’s bunker from here?” he asked the dog. Boy growled at him, a serious sound like at the river. 

He wasn’t dumb enough to ignore that warning. “Boy?” he asked, then paused considering, “Am I in danger from the Argents?” 

Boy looked at him, and it was a new look. Stiles almost thought it looked painful before the dog looked away for a moment, and Stiles in that moment would have given anything if he had developed telepathy instead of his Spark, so he could understand what was going on in Boy’s head. 

He glanced at Boy, who still had his miserable face. They’d done pretty well at communicating so far, but he’d been thinking all afternoon about how to communicate more clearly if needed, and he had ideas. So. Many. Ideas. Each one better than the other.

Though where he was going to get a ouija board or Scrabble tiles in 2028 he had no idea. 

He knelt down and cleared away some twigs and grass from a little area and drew two circles. 

“Hey Boy,” he said and the dog looked over, “okay, this side is for yes, and this one is no.” He pointed at one circle and then the other. 

Boy actually tilted his head as he looked at Stiles, and gave him an expression that Stiles absolutely could not have guessed at the meaning of.

“So I’m thinking the Argents are dangerous, yes?” he asked.

Boy didn’t hesitate to put his right paw on the yes spot and then moved it back.

“Yesssss!” Stiles said triumphantly, “I knew this would work!” 

Boy actually sat his red shirt down and leaned forward and licked Stiles cheek. 

“That’s the sweetest thing ever,” he said, “Even more than when you saved my life. Thanks Boy.” 

Boy made a noise deep in him and looked away.

“Okay, next question,” Stiles said, “Are the Argents dangerous to me?”

Boy looked at him for a moment, then hesitated before putting his left paw on ‘no’.

“So they’re dangerous to you,” he said, his heart aching. “Are they all bad?” 

Boy took awhile to respond before he finally replied with his left paw on ‘no’. 

“Matt said the Argents could give me a better idea of what route to take between here and the ocean. He took a more roundabout way to come,” he said, “can they be trusted for that?” 

Boy answered yes almost immediately.

“Are you gonna be alright out here by yourself if I go in?” he asked, “I’ll stay if you won’t. You’re my friend, but I'd like to learn what’s in front of me, and maybe take a bath.” 

The dog made a huffing sound and put his right foot on the yes again. 

“Okay. Then I’m going to go in, and get our information, maybe take a bath. Is there anything else you want to tell me?” 

Boy looked at him, then put his paw right between the two circles.

“I guess I should say, is there anything else you want to tell me that we can do through yes and no?” 

Boy looked at him, then put his left foot on the no. 

“Okay,” Stiles said, “then it’ll have to wait until we find a way to say more.” 

He stood up and looked at Boy, “Are we ready?” 

The dog put his right paw forward and Stiles laughed, and said, “Seriously, you’re the best.” 

Boy picked up Laura’s shirt and they kept walking until they came in sight of the bridge Matt had mentioned. 

“That’s the bridge,” Stiles said softly, looking down at Boy. “You’ll meet me here tomorrow? In the morning?”

Boy looked at him and then put his right paw forward. 

“Okay,” Stiles said. “Okay.” He thought about the danger that had Boy so scared. “If I don’t show up by noon, will you go find my dad? He’s smart, if you try to communicate he’ll figure it out.” 

He thought for a moment and then pulled out one of his spare tshirts, an old one that had once been orange and blue that he wore on Mets game days, and that he loved beyond reason. “Take this,” he said, “if something goes wrong, take this shirt. He’ll recognize it.” Stiles set the shirt down. “Otherwise we’ll just meet here tomorrow and it’ll all be fine.” 

Boy looked at him with that unreadable look again, and then very carefully reached forward and set Laura’s red shirt down at Stiles feet, and then picked up the faded blue and orange one.

“Are you sure?” Stiles whispered. 

Boy looked him in the eyes and put one foot out. His right one. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah Argents.   
> I mean, you knew they were coming. Lol. Progress on chapter 4 has been pretty slow, I’m trying to nail down a few things and I’m not getting it quite right.   
> The scene at the river is honestly one of my favorites. Like it’s so Stiles to heedlessly launch a rock into potential danger, I just love it. 
> 
> Anyway, comments and kudos are great and give me joy. The world needs joy right?


	4. Chapter 4

The sun was just above the western mountains when he made it to the Argent bunker, which he recognized as the location of the old First Bank of Beacon Hills, though the buildings all around it had been pulled down and converted to a series of walls and towers. The Argents didn’t have a bunker, they had a castle, and about the only thing missing was a flag flying over it.

He snorted at first, before he thought about the likely result of a strong fortress and a militarized force in this new world and his foreboding grew. 

He’d seen the glint of light on metal in a couple of the towers, and knew he was being watched as he approached, so he wasn’t surprised that when he got to the entrance to their compound there was a gate guard. 

“Who are you?” the guard, who was missing only a uniform, said with a voice of command.

“Stiles?” he said. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I’m heading to the coast to track down my girlfriend,” Stiles said. “I met a hunter named Matt a couple of months ago who had seen her in a bunker there, and he told me I should stop here and talk to the Argents about the best route to the coast.” 

“Wait there,” The man said, pointing to a bench before disappearing through a door. Stiles sat on the bench and looked around at the massive concrete edifice around him. His eyes focused on the join of the pieces, noticing that the lines of the concrete pieces were smooth and sharp, and the pieces almost looked fused together instead of mortared like he expected. 

“Stiles?” a voice said from the doorway, and the sheer familiarity struck him and he whipped his head around.

“Val?” he said, scrambling to his feet, “oh my god, you’re alive!” He rushed to her and grabbed her in a hug. 

“Oh my god, you’re all grown up!” she said, as the guy from before stepped back outside.

“Yeah, and you look the same!” he said, then hesitated, “Is Hayden...?” 

“She’s alive. She’s married if you can believe it.” 

“Not to what’s his name, the kid with the temper.” 

“Yeah.” She laughed, “Liam. That one was inevitable I guess. Your dad...?” 

“He’s good! We’re settled in a bunker on the backside of the Preserve. Are you with the Argents?” 

“Yeah, for a year or so,” she said. “After that night-“ she shook her head. “Things got really bad. Then the Argents created a series of zones, and gradually condensed people into seven walled townships. Then tore down the houses between the townships where we grow crops and house livestock. It’s not like before, but things are better. There are fewer incursions, and death is rare again.” 

“Thank god. I wonder about people sometimes, but it’s hard to find out anything.” 

“When Kevin came in and said there was some kid named Stiles out here that a hunter named Matt had sent our way, I couldn’t believe it was actually going to be you!” 

Kevin behind her rolled his eyes, “We don’t let strangers in the gate.” 

“Oh, yeah, I guess that makes sense. Is there someplace safe you can recommend that’s close?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Val said, “You’re not a stranger!” She pushed him towards the side door, he noticed, not the main gate, and wondered what that signified, and wondered what was behind that gate.

“Oh!” he said, as she shoved him and he shifted to avoid bumping into Kevin. “Thanks Val.” 

“I need to take you to Argent so he can okay it, but it’ll just be a formality. You’ll need to leave your weapons with us until you leave though.” 

“Sure, that makes sense,” he said, separating the bow and quiver off of his pack and said, “Do I need to pull out the bowstring too? It’s in my pack to keep it dry.”

“No, this is fine,” she said, “It’s just a rule the Argents have.” 

He undid his belt enough to pull his sheathed knife off as well. “You might want to warn anyone that touches them that the arrow points are dipped in a neurotoxin. It won’t kill anyone, but it’ll result in a short term paralysis.” 

“Oh nice!” she said, “I wondered how you felt safe wandering around with just a bow and a knife.” 

“That’s one of the reasons I was stopping here,” he said. “The Hunter I met, Matt, he wasn’t too familiar with the river path through the hills, and said the Argents would know more.” 

“How did you meet this Matt?” she asked. 

“He came by the bunker a couple of months ago. He had a letter for Scott, you remember Scott? Well his old boss is a vet and ended up in a bunker up by Redding. Scott had sent him some questions about problems we were having with the chickens and Deaton finally got back to him.” 

“Oh so he was a Hunter who’d stopped by before?” 

Stiles had been so excited to see Val his caution had been thrown aside and he almost kicked himself. What was going on was so clear: he was being interrogated. 

“I don’t think so?” he said cautiously. “If he’d been by before I didn’t meet him.” 

“Strange, I know most of Argent’s Hunters and I don’t recognize the name. Could you describe him?” 

Stiles was smart enough not to tell her that he could show her what Matt looked like. He kept his illusions a secret from everyone except his pod. Instead he said, “Sure, I can draw pretty well, I can probably do a pretty good likeness.” 

“That would be great!” she said, “there’s been some problems with rogue Hunters cropping up.” 

“Rogue Hunters?” he asked.

“They show up at small bunkers, kill the pod, take any valuables or weapons. We’ve found the remains of a few recently.” 

“That’s terrible!” he said. “Well, he probably didn’t find much to excite them. Dad had a couple of guns, and that’s about it.” He decided to not mention Parrish or Braeden or the full arsenal they had between them.

“So it’s just you and your dad and Scott?” she asked.

“And Melissa,” he said. “Scott's mom. But we’ve got neighbors close by, the pod closest to us is over thirty people.” 

“They probably thought it was too dangerous if you had neighbors that close,” she said. “You got lucky.” 

“God, should I head home?” he asked. “I could probably make it back through the Preserve in a full day.” 

“The Preserve!” she said. “You came that way?” 

“Yeah, that way seemed the fastest.” 

“It’s a good way to get killed!” she said, “there’s wolves in the Preserve.” 

“I think they’re just dogs,” he said, “dad says there haven’t been wolves in California since like the 50s.” 

“They’re wolves,” she said, “and they’ve made it clear they don’t want anyone in those woods.” 

He had so many questions, but there was no way to ask them without causing a bigger problem. Revealing knowledge he was better keeping hidden. 

“Where are we headed?” he asked as they turned down a third corridor. “Cause I’m pretty sure I’m lost.”

“I told you, I’m taking you to meet Mr Argent. He’s the one you’ll want to ask about the route to the coast.” 

“Oh, I’m meeting him now. I thought you meant later, like maybe when it was too late to throw me back out in the dark.” 

She laughed, “I’d forgotten how funny you are.” 

“I mean, I like to think I’ve gotten funnier with age. Hotter too. Like, my model good looks and a great sense of humor I bet before the Event I’d have been very popular.” 

She laughed again as she stopped and knocked on a thick wooden door. He could hear a muffled ‘Enter” from inside and she pushed the door open.

“Mr Argent,” Val said, “this is Stiles, his dad used to be the sheriff before, and I worked with him until the city was overrun.” 

Overrun, Stiles thought, barely described that last week. The Fae had come in waves, night after night, until less than half the population was left, and then in one terrible final night the city had finally fallen.

She turned to Stiles, “I’ll let you talk. I need to get back to the gate. I’m on shift until 11. Stiles I’ll see you later?” She looked at him.

“Absolutely,” he said, and she smiled one last time and headed back out the door.

“So you’re the former Sheriff Stilinski’s son,” Argent said, standing up. “I‘ve heard good things about his time as sheriff. Please, call me Gerard.” 

“I’m Stiles,” he said, shaking the man’s hand and feeling the chill of a series of rings on the man’s fingers. Odd, that they hadn’t absorbed the man’s body warmth, and he didn’t seem like the kind to wear jewelry. Stiles wondered if they had another purpose.

“I love getting the chance to meet new people from the outer pods,” the old man said, “it’s always so illuminating.” He placed a strange emphasis on the last word before he looked at the door, and said, “Can you shut the door before you have a seat?” he asked, “I wouldn’t want our conversation to be disturbed.” 

“Sure,” Stiles said, pushing the heavy door shut, surprised to feel it respond to his touch like the wood at the Hale house had, then he took a seat across from the old man who reminded him of one of his high school principals. The second one, though he’d forgotten the name, a man who’d always seemed shady.

“Tell me about yourself, Stiles,” he said. 

“Well, I’m twenty-three. Ummm I was born here in Beacon Hills. My dad was the sheriff and now we’re part of a small pod near the Finstock Bunker.” 

“Finstock is a very strange man,” Gerard said, “But surprisingly adept at running a large group.” 

“He taught me how to play lacrosse a few summers ago. He made these speeches. He seemed to think the fae were aliens and there was going to be an uprising against them, honestly it was all a little confusing.” 

“Well, that gets back to the nature of the Fae,” Gerard said. “Demons and succubi and shapeshifters, monsters all of them.” 

“My dad thinks that the Fae just came from us, they’re people that got twisted by the Event.” 

“That’s one theory,” Gerard said, “I believe the Event didn’t make the Fae, it just revealed what was already here. Hidden among us.” He pointed at the wall, which was covered in descriptions and pictures of different monsters. “It’s not by chance that they matched up with creatures out of our legends.” 

“But what about people who got things like the ability to find water, or the woman who can make it rain I’ve heard about.”

“Powers already buried inside of many of us,” Gerard said, “but still human. Did you find you had a gift?” Something about the way he said it rang an alarm deep in Stiles’ mind, and he decided it might be best to underplay his abilities.

“I can make a fire,” Stiles replied. “I’m a spark, but not really a strong one.” 

“Still, a very useful ability. Is that why you felt safe leaving your bunker?” 

“No, I met this guy, he said he was a hunter, named Matt. He had met this girl I used to know, my girlfriend Heather actually, from before. He said she was still single, and I thought, well, I wanted to see-“ he paused looking for a word, “I wanted to see her I guess.” 

“Ah young love!” Gerard said, and there was something saccharine and fake about the way he said it. “Such an inspiration.” 

“Anyway, the Matt guy suggested I talk to you, to ask you the best route to the coast, to avoid danger.” 

“There are many dangers any way you take,” Gerard said. “But I suppose I could help out a man searching for lost love.” 

“Great, let me just grab my map!” Stiles said, fumbling for his bag to get the map. 

“Let’s see,” he unfolded the map and refolded it with the river valley headed west showing. “We’re here,” he said pointing at the map. “And he said Heather’s pod is around here somewhere.” He pointed to a beach near Eureka.

“That’s quite a trek,” Gerard said. “Probably for you by yourself, four or five days by foot through the mountains.” 

“I thought I could just follow the river most of the way.” 

“You could, but for the Fae. They’re mostly asleep during the day, but at night,” Gerard said, “you’d be defenseless. I wonder at this Matt’s motivations.” 

“Well, we were pretty drunk on potato liquor,” Stiles said with a laugh, “But Val said she thought he might be a rogue Hunter.” 

“It’s possible. Or that he’s from a different clan,” Gerard said. “Did you catch his name beyond Matt?” 

“No,” Stiles said. “He was young, maybe twenty-five? And had a scar on his cheek. I could probably draw a rough likeness if that’ll help.” 

“A scar on his cheek,” Gerard said. “That sounds familiar, which cheek?” 

“The right side.”

“Matt Dahler,” Gerard said. “He was an associate of my daughter Kate’s for awhile.” 

“So not a bad guy?” 

“I don’t know him well, but Kate is an excellent judge of character, so likely not.” 

“Oh good,” Stiles said. “So is there a way to avoid the Fae going west?” 

“Well let’s see,” Gerard turned the map then pointed. “Around here is a bunker, small but secure. Run by a woman named Morrell, and her daughter. She might let you stay a night.”

Gerard glanced further west, “And there’s a small bunker here, well guarded. The Calaveras, old allies of my family run it. Ask for Araya. She’ll probably let you stay a night.” He gestured a little further toward the coast, “And then there's the town of Haven, here on this point. It started out just a few families but stragglers have drifted in over time and it’s become quite a little fortress.”

He tapped on the map. “But that leaves you the last night in the open before you reach the coast. There used to be an Argent stronghold there, but it was destroyed by the Fae a few months ago. There are still ruins there, but it's not safe.”

“I didn’t realize they were still so dangerous.” 

“They grow more dangerous all the time,” Gerard said. “There are just fewer and fewer of us for them to kill. And I’ve heard rumors that they’ve started organizing.” 

“How do I kill one if I encounter it?” 

“Hope you can outrun it,” Gerard said. “Most of them are faster and harder to kill than a man. Some of them have venom, some can seduce with a look, others have claws and fangs. But they don’t come out much during the day, and their powers are weaker then. All fae kind are strongest under the moon, so many only come out at night.” 

“But what about things like the harpies and the tentacle things in the river?” Stiles said, “I see both of those in the daytime.” 

“They don’t use magic, they were just made by it,” Gerard said. “The things in the night, the succubi, the demons, even the things that don’t seem dangerous like the wisps, they’re the ones to be afraid of, that’s what we fight.” 

“I’ve heard iron is toxic to some of them?”

“Some, but not all. We’ve found different weaknesses in them. Sometimes iron, sometimes silver. For some we haven’t found a weakness yet.”

“So your advice is to run?”

“Avoidance is the safest.” 

“Oh okay, that’s helpful,” Stiles said, then noticed a familiar symbol on the wall, the second time he’d seen it that day, “Were you a big fan of the Saints before?” 

Gerard turned and looked at the wall. “No. The fleur de lis has been the mark of my family for centuries,” he said, “since the first Argents became hunters for the king of France.”

Stiles hoped his skepticism didn’t show up on his face. “Centuries? I guess I thought the Hunters appeared when Fae first appeared.” 

“My family has a long history with dark and dangerous things,” Argent said. “Maybe some other time I can tell you about it, but unfortunately I have another meeting in a moment. You’re welcome to stay here tonight. I’ll have someone show you to a room.” 

He pulled a thin rope on the wall and a moment later a tall man with ice blue eyes opened the door. 

“Chris,” Gerard said, “This is Stiles, he’s the son of the old sheriff, and will be our guest for the night. Can you show him around and get him settled?” 

The man looked at Stiles closely, “Of course, come this way.”

Chris led him out, and down another corridor, deeper into the fortress. He explained how to navigate the halls, pointing out the colored plaques next to each branching corridor that Stiles had noticed but not understood. 

The older man eventually led him to a Spartan windowless room with a small overly firm bed and a chair, pointing out where a communal bathroom was down the hall. Then told Stiles he’d be back to get him before the evening meal. It reminded him of a cell, but it was safe and he shrugged his bag off and slumped down onto the bed with a soft groan. 

He wasn’t used to this much walking anymore and the time he’d spent in Argents office had allowed him to stiffen up, so he lay back and half dozed, while he wondered what Boy was up to, and what name Laura Hale had given him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote about another 500 words passed this ending and it was just limping along because I couldn’t figure out where it went, and then I realized (after stating at it did a week) that I’d overshot the ending.  
> Sometimes I end up getting in my own way. Lol.  
> Chapter 5 is coming along, and should be up sooner than this was.  
> As always, comments and kudos are truly appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles woke in the pale light he'd kept going in the room out of reflex. He'd stayed up late to have a chance to really catch up with Val before Chris, who it turned out was Gerard's son, had shown him where they'd built in showers and bathrooms on each floor, and he'd taken advantage of hot water he wasn't heating himself the night before for a long hot shower. There had been a slight metallic tang to the water, and Stiles had wondered if they were using a well or if the old city municipal water system still worked at least in part. 

He stretched to loosen his aching muscles and finally decided to go ahead and get dressed. He knew from Chris's explanations over dinner that there would be fruit and bread for breakfast and he wondered idly where the flour was coming from. It had been in short supply for all the outlying bunkers since just after the Event. He finished getting dressed and rechecked his bag, making sure things were as he'd left them. He had left it behind when he'd gone to dinner, taking only his journal with him in his back pocket. 

He slung the pack over his shoulder and winced slightly at the aches, then slipped out of the room and into the hall. He followed the route Chris had shown him to the communal dining room the night before, and snagged a chunk of the hearty bread and a couple of apples from the counters and sat down at a chair. He pulled his map out and studied it. Gerard had told him to stay on the same side of the river as Beacon Hills until after he passed the Calaveras compound, to avoid the worst of the fae near the city, even though the terrain had more elevation gain, it was also only lightly forested. 

He committed the locations of the Calaveras and Morrell pods to memory; he assumed Haven was large enough that it would be impossible to miss. The Argent outpost would be impossible to miss as he understood it, since it was located where the river narrowed through nearly rocky cliffs that were the hardest place to cross. There was an old path between it and Haven, but Gerard wasn't sure how well maintained it would be. 

"You're up quite early," a familiar voice said, and he turned to see Chris standing next to the table. "Studying your map?"

“Yeah, I figured getting an early start was best since I don't know the way. Just in case."

"Very smart," Chris said and turned to the young dark haired girl coming up beside him, "This is my daughter Allison. She just started her training as a hunter a few weeks ago, and I thought I could take you the first little ways and show her the area too. She's been working with the pods in the gardens for the last few years, so we're getting her up to speed."

Stiles wanted to scream inside, he was supposed to meet up with Boy, but there was no way to say no to the presence of the hunters. 

"Sure, yeah, that would be awesome," Stiles said. "I mean, I was going to head out in a few minutes after I ate." 

“We can be ready to go now," Chris said. 

"Oh great, yeah," Stiles said, "Let me just put this away." He shoved the last of the bread in his mouth and folded the map back up and shoved it into his backpack. 

Chris took him a different route to the gatehouse, and he paused while Chris and Allison checked out and Allison returned his bow and quiver and belt knife to him, and he thanked her while he reattached the bow and quiver to his backpack and the knife to his belt.

When they got outside Chris turned away from the road that led back to the bridge, and Stiles glanced toward the bridge fretfully, "So how far are you guys headed?" Stiles said, hoping Boy was close enough to hear him, and unsure how good the dog's hearing might be.

"Probably around two hours down," Chris said, "I want to show Allison how to detect the octacles in the river before you get too close."

"Avoid throwing rocks at them," Stiles said and Allison laughed. 

Chris made a face. "I guess that would work, though the older ones have longer tentacles that you might expect."

"Yeah, I sort of learned that lesson." 

"I'm impressed though," Chris said, "Most people who encounter one don't survive it if they're not expecting it."

"I probably wouldn't have," Stiles said, then realized he couldn't tell them about Boy, "If it wasn't for the rock," he finished awkwardly.

Allison laughed again, "Sorry," she said, “I shouldn't laugh about your almost death."

"No, seriously, I would too," Stiles said. "Near us the river is pretty rough, probably not much opportunity for those things to grow. So I wasn't expecting them." 

"We've been fighting them since not long after the Event," Chris said. "We used to have them stopped at the old Argent bunker."

"Yeah, where the river narrows right, your dad, errr Gerard, he told me it was probably a good place to stop for the night with some shelter."

"Strange," Chris said, "Even after Kate abandoned the old place, the Talbot's are still not far from there and they're usually quite welcoming of guests. I haven't heard anything about that having changed." 

Stiles stopped and pulled out his map and Chris showed him where the Talbot family had retreated after the Event and gave him more detailed information about the route to get there than Gerard had. After he was done, Stiles shoved the map away and they kept walking. He kept his eye out for Boy, and worried about the dog until finally almost twenty minutes into the walk he finally caught sight of him in the trees not far away. 

"Ummm Chris, I have to step off for a second," he said, "I'll catch up in a minute." 

Chris nodded and he and Allison continued walking, Chris explaining about the vegetation around them as they went. 

Stiles moved into the bushes until the road was almost lost behind him. "Boy?" he said softly, and a moment later the dog stepped out of the trees, his shirt caught in his mouth. "Oh thank god," Stiles said, dropping to his knees. "I didn't know what to do, Chris caught me at breakfast and said he was coming this way, and I didn't know how to get away to let you know." 

Boy finally stepped close and Stiles wrapped his arms around the dog, who grew stiff for a moment before relaxing into him. "They're only going part way," Stiles continued, "A couple of hours. Can you stay hidden until then?" 

Boy stepped back slightly, and sat, then put his right paw up on Stiles chest. "Thank you buddy," Stiles said. "God I missed you last night. Is that dumb, like, we just met but like I couldn't stand to leave you behind. I thought I was going to have to cross the river and like sneak back to meet up with you." 

Boy snorted and leaned forward into Stiles, dropping his shirt and swiping a long lick across his face. Stiles.

"Okay dog breath, got it, I was being stupid." 

Stiles pulled Laura’s shirt out of his bag, but Boy didn’t take it, instead he pushed back at it with his snout. 

“What’s going on Boy, do you not want it?” 

Boy barked and kept pushing back at it. 

“Wait, do you want me to keep it in my bag.

Boy licked him again and put his right paw back up on him. Then turned and trotted back into the trees. Stiles laughed a bit and then shoved the shirt back in his bag. 

After that he was able to relax, and pay attention to everything Argent told both him and Allison about what was poisonous and the things that might repel some kinds of fae, and the thousand and one tricks the hunters used to stay alive. Both he and Allison took turns asking questions and the morning passed by quickly. Periodically he would catch sight of Boy if he was paying attention, but it was rare. The dog had an uncanny ability to stay hidden even when the trees and bushes cleared up and the land around the road down to the river was just grassland.

"The octacles don't like to be in direct sun," Chris said. "If there's one in the river there it'll stay small and probably not survive long. They need deep calm water with shade from the sun." 

"That's super helpful," Stiles added.

"That grove up there, that's where we're headed," Chris said. Stiles looked at the heavy tree cover they were approaching, which covered both sides of the river in much denser forest that even in the Preserve.

When they got to the trees, Chris pulled out a bow of his own and strung it. 

"I didn't bring any potassium explosives," Chris said, "But I can show you how to detect the octacles at least." He glanced over at Stiles, "Without the rock." 

Stiles and Allison glanced at each other and laughed, and even Chris smiled slightly.

Things grew cooler in the trees, and the shadows heavier. Chris pointed out that the trees above them were maples with a slightly olive tint that blocked out more of the sun, making it an ideal place for the octacles to grow. 

"Do they reproduce like anemones?" Stiles asked.

"We're actually not sure," Chris admitted. "We've never managed to find them in a larval state, or any reproductive method at all."

"So they might have, like, an evolution into a queen octacle, like the face huggers in Alien?" Stiles asked.

Both Allison and Chris looked at him. 

"Or not," Stiles said, feeling awkward. 

"Hopefully not," Allison said.

"Right," Stiles replied.

Chris stopped them both with a gesture. "There," he said pointing at the river. "You see that slight rippling in the water, like there's something in the way, but you can't see anything?" Stiles did see, and once he noticed it, it was obvious. The whole length of the tentacles arms could be seen, and it was significantly larger than the one he and Boy had encountered. 

"Is that one big?" Allison asked.

"Not particularly," Chris said. "We clean them out fairly regularly this close to the bunker. And a little further down river the Calaveras are nearly religious about it. But once you get past the old Argent bunker, watch out for them. There's no one further downriver dealing with them, and the deep water there is ideal for them, and they get really big." 

"I'm surprised they can support that large of a population feeding off of the available prey," Stiles said.

"They don't. Did you notice the color pattern?" 

"Not closely."

"They also have chlorophyll. They don't just eat animals, that's just a bonus, they're also eating sunlight, that's why they're so sensitive to how much they're getting." 

"Okay, that's even more terrifying," Stiles said. 

"They're not the only dangerous thing you'll likely encounter, but they're what get the most people," Chris said.

"I hadn't even heard of them," Stiles admitted.

"They hadn't gotten past us when we were in the old bunker," Chris said. “But we got stretched too thin between the bunker in town, and here, plus the bunker further south, and eventually Kate decided to pull back and concentrate on that one. I thought we had warned everyone about them, but apparently we missed your pod." 

"It's small," Stiles said, "Not far from the Finstock bunker." 

"Ah," Chris said, "I've only met Finstock once, my father usually deals with him." 

"He's a character," Stiles said. "Speaking of people you might know though, did you know Laura Hale?"

Chris stiffened slightly. "The Hales," he said, then added, "How did you meet the Hales?"

"I didn't. I got lost in the Preserve on my way, and found her grave. I just wondered about her." 

"Laura's dead?" Chris replied, and Stiles nodded. 

"Well I found her grave at least." 

"I feel sorry for Derek. She was his last family," Chris said.

"Who's Derek?" Allison asked. 

"The last Hale. Most of the family died in a fire back before the Event. I knew his uncle Peter a little bit. Derek must have been the one to bury Laura." 

"And he's all alone now?" Allison said.

"Probably. I haven't heard that they'd brought anyone into their-" he hesitated and then finished haltingly, "family."

"I didn't see him around," Stiles said, "Just her dog." He cursed himself in his head once it was said.

"You saw her dog," Chris said.

"From a distance. Seemed pretty standoffish."

"Yeah, he has that reputation," Chris said. "I've never met him myself."

"Hopefully Derek is taking care of him," Allison said. 

"I'm sure he is," Chris said and Stiles resisted the urge to look into the trees knowing how wrong that was. 

Chris spent some more time showing Stiles and Allison some of the dangerous flora and some that were edible. Stiles figured between what he already knew, plus what Chris had taught him, he definitely wouldn't starve. Eventually the Argents decided to head back, and Stiles continued down the road, keeping watch for movement in the grass and bushes, waiting for Boy to reappear. 

It wasn't until he rounded a bend in the path around a hill that he finally found the dog. He was sitting next to the path, keeping watch over two rabbits that were obviously the descendents of once domestic bunnies, going by their white and gray patched bodies.

Stiles laughed and said, "Boy! I am so glad to see you!" and ran towards the dog who accepted his cuddles and pets with a grumpy resignation.

Stiles sat back and looked at the dog. "Okay, can I say, you were so right. That Argent dude is pretty creepy. Chris didn't seem so bad but Gerard was, like, grandpa bad touch." He kept petting Boy around the ears. 

"Honestly, I feel weird continuing on knowing he knows about my dad." 

Boy sneezed and then leaned forward and licked across his face. 

"You're so gross," Stiles said laughing then pushed at the rabbits. "I see you brought your own lunch." 

Boy lifted his left front leg and smacked Stiles's leg.

"They're not for you?" he said. "What are they for me, did you think I was going to starve without you feeding me?"

Boy just gave him a look and stood up. Stiles picked up the rabbits while Boy looked on smuggly. "I guess I should at least prep these," he said. He stepped into the grass, and proceeded to field dress the rabbits and once he was satisfied with their condition he concentrated for a moment, and was pleased to watch them stiffen and harden as the cold took over. Boy watched him curiously as he tucked the rabbit-sicles into his bag, then used water from his canteen to rinse his hands and knife before he dried them off with a rag from one of the backpacks pockets. 

"Ready?" he said to Boy after a moment, and they headed on down the path. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was a little faster than the last one!   
> I’ve got a little bit of 6 started, so hopefully it’ll be up soon too.   
> I did make a slight change to chapter 4, just the ordering in the pods that Gerard mentioned, but nothing else. 
> 
> As always comments and kudos are life! Thank you!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the end of 2020 is here, and my writing has been super slow. But here is the start of my New Years gift to my readers:  
> Five chapters of five different WIPs, done and will be posted throughout the day. Happy New Year! May 2021 be better for us all.

By the time the sun was high in the sky Stiles had mostly put the Argents out of his head. He knew if anything came close Boy would alert him, and so he relaxed and started to talk to the preternaturally intelligent dog. The next time they went through trees near the river he crept closer, practicing his new skill at detecting the octacles. He refilled his canteen again, using his spark to boil the water then cool it down before drinking it and when it finally got hot and he'd grown hungry enough, Boy led him to a little copse where he found a likely tree to lean against as they ate. 

Cooking meat with his spark had been a harder trick to learn than boiling water. It took a degree of fine control that had cost him a lot of charred meals before he'd perfected it. But he was an old hand at it by this point. 

As always, Boy watched his use of his spark closely, and when the rabbits were steaming hot and cooked Stiles tried to give the dog one of them but he turned his nose away. 

"C'mon buddy, you're the one who brought them!" Stiles said beseechingly to the dog's turned away face, before he sighed and started to nibble on the first one. Boy turned back and watched him eat as intently as he'd watched Stiles cook the rabbits. As he ate, Stiles offered the bones to the dog, which he finally took, and Stiles grinned and started to leave more meat on the bones. He saw the moment Boy noticed and saw his ears twitch back like he was annoyed.

"Oh stop," Stiles said. "There's more than enough for both of us." The dog made a huffing sound and Stiles had a certainty if dogs could roll their eyes this dog would have. 

"So Gerard recommended the Calaveras Pod as a place to stop tonight," Stiles said around his food. "Do you have any information on them? Gerard seems to trust them, which makes me think they're sketchy." 

Boy toggled his head in a manner that was eerily like a shrug. 

"Is that a left paw for they're not particularly untrustworthy, or a right paw for you don't know?" Stiles said, and Boy eventually put his left paw out.

"Okay. So Calaveras tonight," Stiles said. "Will you come inside with me?" 

Boy huffed and put out his right paw, and Stiles grinned. 

"Okay, so more trustworthy than the Argents. Got it." He finished off the rabbit and looked at the second one, "I'm honestly pretty full," he said, looking at the dog, "So will you eat the second one?" 

The dog gave him a once over then leaned over and pulled the second rabbit closer to him and started to inhale it. 

"Wait, were you making sure I ate first?" Stiles said. "Like that's some A plus gentlemanly behavior du-" he caught himself, "my friend I mean." 

Boy ignored him and kept eating the rabbit until it was gone. After a few minutes of relaxing, Stiles pulled out his map and started drawing a rough map of the road with the river on the side. Keeping track of his path and some notes on conditions would be helpful to the next person to come this way. When he was done he put it away.

The sun was hot even in the shade, like a preview of the summer to come. Before the event it was the type of spring day he'd try to convince his dad to let him skip school, which only worked on occasion. In the distance he could see the mountains coming closer, and he wondered what the trail through them was like. Gerard had said it was more than a path in most places and not quite a road anymore, but he had a vague memory of raging rivers cutting through rocky mountain channels from the Discovery channel. 

The heat grew more intense and Boy dozed in the shade as Stiles enjoyed the warmth of the sun as he let his meal digest, taking periodic sips from his canteen. Finally he climbed to his feet with a slight groan, still unused to the ache that had returned to his muscles. 

"If we're going to take up with this life as fearless explorers, I suppose I should get used to aching feet shouldn't I?" Stiles said to Boy as he lifted his head. 

The dog stood up slowly, stretching his legs as Stiles stretched out his own. With a sigh he stepped out of the shade back into the sun. 

"Ooph. Hot," Stiles said, and the dog made an odd little chuffing noise that sounded like agreement. Stiles had noticed that Boy made a wide range of sounds that were nothing like a dog’s bark. He wondered how Laura had found Boy, wondered if her brother Derek had noticed he was gone, and felt a stab of guilt at having stolen perhaps a last relic of the man's lost sister. He turned to the dog.

"Do you think Derek is going to miss you?" he said finally, "Like, I'm thinking about him coming back and you not being there. And you're probably important to him, since he doesn't have anyone else left. Should I take you back?" 

Boy pinned his ears back before sitting down suddenly and firmly putting his left foot forward and looking at Stiles directly, unblinking. 

"Okay, so no then," Stiles said, "Got it. I wasn't trying to get rid of you or anything. I was just wondering. I remember when I lost my mom, and it was hard. She got sick back before the Event. But Laura was his last family and I still have my dad. I don't know what I'd do without him." 

Boy made a soft sound, almost a whimper, and Stiles looked at the dog, whose expression had turned to what he could only consider to be grief, and he realized belatedly that a monologue about the dog's dead friend was unbelievably cruel.

"Oh god," he said, dropping to his knees next to the dog, "I am the utter worst. Sometimes I don't think before I speak. I'm so sorry buddy." He gathered Boy close and held him, while Boy buried his face into the crook of Stile's neck. He held him until Boy turned and gave him a small lick on his face and started to pull away. Stiles let him go. 

They started walking again and Stiles was quiet for a while before something caught his attention and he started talking again. Gradually the mountains grew closer and the valley narrowed until the trail drifted away from the river bank and climbed upward until they were forced to scramble up and down the path forward. Sweat started to pour down Stiles’ back and off his face with the exertion.

The sun was near the western horizon and a slight breeze had finally broken the day's still air when the path rounded a rise and started to drop back towards the river. In the distance he could see cement and stone walls. The Calaveras pod he assumed.

"Look Boy!" he said excitedly, "Not too much further now." 

Boy gave him a look that seemed to translate to some version of 'I can see that, idiot,' and kept walking down the path.

With the end in sight the aches and pains of the day started to fade from his awareness and energy flooded back. He happily followed after the dog as he picked his way down the winding trail. As they drew closer Stiles examined the small compact pod, and noticed that the buildings were constructed the same way the Argent compound was. The stone and concrete seemed fused together, and he wondered what process was used, or if it was some power he'd never heard of.

The gates were open and the closer they got he could see a small courtyard, and he was reminded of old world castles again, the way it had been in Argent's compound. He wondered in a hundred years what the world would become. 

When they came through the gate there was no one guarding it, but he could see that the courtyard surrounded an inner building which lacked windows for at least the first two floors. The narrow windows further up were all barred or shuttered. 

"Where are you coming from?" a voice said from behind him, and he turned to see Boy had already been watching the woman who had emerged from one of the doors built into the inside of the outer wall not far away.

"Ummm hi," Stiles said. "Gerard Argent suggested you might be willing to put me up for the night if I stopped here, I'm assuming you're the Calaveras?" 

She looked at him closely, then switched her eyes to Boy, and he thought he saw a spark of familiarity there, before a sort of cold dislike filled her eyes. 

"Yes. I'm Araya Calaveras. We're already full up inside, and we don't let his kind inside anway," she said flatly, looking at Boy, then glanced back at Stiles, "But I guess I won't leave you to the other monsters either." She motioned for him to follow and walked back towards the outer wall. "These rooms built into the walls are secure, and once the gates are closed for the night none of the fae will get in. You're on your own for meals, and I'll want you gone at dawn." 

"Thank you," Stiles said, irritated at her standoffishness, and curious what she knew about Boy. He wondered if maybe Boy wasn't the only intelligent dog to show up after the Event.

"I'm surprised Gerard sent you here," she replied, looking at Derek, "He has less use for the mutts than I do." Beside him Boy made a noise that wasn't quite a growl.

"I met Boy on the road," Stiles said, "after I left the Argents." He figured a half truth was all she really deserved, and her rudeness to Boy was really driving home his dislike of her. 

"Lucky for him," she said, then looked back down at Boy and said, "I expect you to keep control and no problems. Argent’s daughter is in the area hunting gaunts, I expect she'll be back tonight." 

The dog just looked at her, his ears twitching slightly before he dipped his head once.

"Feel free to use as much water as you like," Araya said, "It looks like you can use a bath. It'll be cold, but we've got plenty from a spring up the mountain."

Stiles didn't bother to let her know it would not be cold, but thanked her again, and she closed the door behind her as she left.

"Wow," he said to Boy, "she's not particularly friendly is she?" When the dog tilted his head Stiles added, "Maybe she's a cat person." Boy made the particular huffing noise Stiles associated with the canine version of rolling his eyes, and it felt like a win. 

He started to pull things out of his bag, including a couple of the frozen canisters of food he'd packed and kept cold, and the small block of precious soap he'd brought with him. "You provided lunch, so I guess dinner is on me," he said and Boy’s tail brushed once across the floor where he sat. Stiles pulled out his map, and updated the rest of the day's journey on the side of the map he'd been drawing on, with notes about the terrain and the cold welcome he'd received from the Calaveras.

Next he filled the shallow tub in the corner with cold water from the spring, and slowly raised the temperature until a wisp of steam escaped. He checked the water and it was perfect. As he started to strip down, Boy lay down, faced away from him and let out a long sigh.

Stiles climbed into the water and groaned as his aching muscles started to relax. 

"My friend, this is exactly what I needed," he said contentedly as he started to scrub himself down. The soap was good, better than the harsh soap they'd managed on their own. It came from one of the small pods not far from Finstock's compound in exchange for Stiles creating a cold room in their bunker. He wondered if there was a range to his ability to keep things cold. If so he hadn't found it yet. He could sense, in the back of his mind, that the cold rooms he'd set up were still functioning. He could sense the frozen containers of stew in his bag in the same way. His control of fire had come first, but the ability to keep things cold was more valuable once he'd figured out the trick of it. 

"Do you want a bath of your own?" he asked Boy, who finally turned to look at him and gave him such a glare that he started to laugh. He splashed around in the bath awhile longer, then pulled the plug from the drainhole and let it empty out, before refilling it and throwing his clothes in to soak. He hummed to himself as he washed out his clothes with some of the soap, then lifted them out and slowly steamed the water out of them. He slipped back into his boxers and jeans then added a tshirt, leaving off his socks. 

He was just turning to ask Boy if he was ready for dinner when he heard a sound. At first he thought it was thunder, but it was constant and repeating. "What the-" he started to say, when the thundering sound grew louder and closer, and Stiles stepped outside, Boy right behind him as four people on horses came rushing through the gates and pulled to a halt.

"Cutting it close Kate," Araya said. "I was about to have the boys shut the gates for the night." 

"We finally found the nest of gaunts we've been tracking." The blond woman who seemed to be the leader said sliding off her horse. "Burning them out took longer than we anticipated." 

So this was Gerard Argent's other kid Stiles thought. She looked a lot younger than Chris, though they definitely shared a look. More than that, they moved the same. 

Turning her head she caught sight of him. "Well Araya, I see you have a new little guest," the blonde said in a voice that made Stiles want to set her on fire where she stood. "And a very familiar looking mutt. Looks like someone grew up since the last time I saw him." She stared at Boy with a smirk. 

The dog growled low and angry and she smiled wider. "Try it sweetheart," she said with manic glee, "just give me an excuse to finish what I started."

"Stay calm," Stiles said, holding onto the scruff of Boy's neck, "Please."

Boy looked up at him, the growling getting quieter but not stopping.

That tickle down his neck he'd felt when he'd met Gerard was stronger. Something about this woman felt dangerous, and what she'd said to Boy implied she knew him, and knew how smart he was. He was pretty sure that this was the source of the bullet cartridges, and her words made him think she was responsible for what happened to Laura Hale.

"They're guests here tonight Kate," Araya said. "Why don't you come inside." She turned her cold eyes back to him, and Kate gave him another smirk as she turned away. 

"Of course," she said. "There's the Code after all. It's such a tragedy what happened to his sister though." 

A pang went through Stiles. So Boy hadn't lost only Laura, but a sister too. He wondered if Derek Hale had found that body as well, and if he'd had to bury it too. He felt a wave of sadness for the unknown man. 

"You've really lost a lot haven't you?" he said softly to Boy, as the dog glared at the retreating figures. "C'mon back inside." 

He stepped back inside, and a moment later Boy joined him. 

He sat on the uncomfortable chair at the table and looked at the dog. "So," he said after a moment. "I think we need a plan." 

Boy just looked at him, and after a moment Stiles continued. "Because I'm getting the feeling she's dangerous isn't she?" Boy put forward his right paw instantly. "Yeah, buddy, I thought so." 

He thought for a moment, trying to come up with a plan. "Okay," he finally said. "During the day I won't be able to hold an illusion under the full sun for long, an hour at most. It's draining to keep it going for that long but I can manage. And after the sun today I doubt we'll get lucky and get clouds tomorrow." 

He tapped his finger on the map, and thought about the river and the shape of the valley he'd seen from the path when it was higher up. There was a valley for a while. A lot of trees, but it was mostly across the river from the path.

"I say we get out of sight of this place before I hide us under illusion. Then we cross the river the first place we can and make our way west on the other side. Under the trees my illusion should hold longer too, so a double win. What do you think?"

Boy thought for a moment before putting his right foot forward again.

"Good, we've got a plan. And worse comes to worse, I can always set her on fire. Though I'm not sure I can do all four of them." 

Honestly he wasn't sure he could burn a person alive in the first place. But if she was threatening him or Boy he suspected he'd manage.

"Can I ask you a question?" Stiles asked. "About Kate?" 

Boy looked at him steadily, and after a moment he put his right foot forward again. 

Stiles felt terrible to ask, but he had to know. "Did Kate kill your sister and Laura?" 

Boy hesitated before putting the right foot forward again, and Stiles' heart broke for him. With the confirmation, he felt a little more sure he'd be able to set Kate on fire if he needed to.

"We'll figure this out," he said as he reached forward to pet the dog. "She won't get us too." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Kate.  
> Just die in a fire already. 
> 
> Oh wait. Is that foreshadowing or not?  
> :-)


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles woke when Boy stuck his cold nose right into the crook of his neck. The ghostly illumination he'd set the night before gave a sense of the layout of the room around him, and he could see the shape of the dog beside the bed staring intently. Outside, he could hear the sounds of the gates being opened and he realized it must be dawn. 

He slipped out of bed and handed the dog a chunk of cheese to eat as he finished getting dressed. Then, after making sure he had everything, he opened the door and let the light and heat inside fade. Outside the world was muffled by a heavy fog that covered everything in a gray light, and he was thankful for the added protection it would provide, though he knew that if Kate Argent and her friends decided to follow them that their best protection would be Boy's senses and not his. 

He turned to the dog and knelt down, "Okay, this is good, it'll make keeping us hidden easier. But if you hear them, or smell them or something, let me know okay?"

Boy put his right foot forward, and Stiles stood back up and stepped outside, the dog right behind him. 

At the gate, he ran into one of the guys he'd seen across the courtyard the night before, and the guy watched them stony-faced as they walked by, until Stiles paused and said, "Please thank Mrs Calaveras for her hospitality, it was appreciated." 

The man turned to the side and spat, ignoring Stiles' comment. Boy growled softly, low and quietly, but Stiles watched the man tense up when he heard it. They stepped fully back onto the path, and turned westward once again. The road disappeared into the gray haze only a few yards ahead. 

Once they were a few hundred yards from the compound and he was sure no one could see them Stiles began to push and bend the light. creating a continuation of the gray fog all around that covered both Boy and himself. It wasn't quite a true illusion, but it would hide them from Kate until the fog started to lift, and was incredibly easy to maintain.

It was strange to not actually see the dog as they walked, even though he could tell where he was because of the feel of his illusion on him. The first mile went peacefully, broken only by the occasional birdsong or the clatter of a kicked rock. He noticed immediately when Boy paused, so Stiles let the illusion thin slightly so he could see the dog who was looking backward towards the compound. 

"Is it Argent?" he asked quietly, and Boy didn't respond for a long time, staring backwards until his head finally swung back around and he lifted his right paw and held it for a moment. Stiles nodded and whispered softly, "Should we get off the road?" 

Boy turned his head again, listening first behind him,and then appearing to look around, and Stiles could see that he was sniffing the air as well. After a few moments Boy started walking again, stopping every few steps and sniffing. Then, finding a particular spot that seemed right, he turned and stepped off onto the uneven rocky terrain that surrounded the road. 

This is when Boy paused and looked back the way they came, then up at Stiles, then back to the road, and Stiles finally caught on and turned around. Behind him he could see the outline of his footprints in the dew. 

"Fuuuuuck," Stiles said softly. Then he noticed the rocks he'd just crossed showed his footsteps too. 

"Hmmm," he said, then started to hide the footprints on the road, before he stopped and looked forward, then, carefully, he started creating the illusion of footprints, before he had another idea. He pulled the canister of the ash he'd taken from the Hale house out and opened it up carefully. Calling a small amount of it out and he used it to create the illusion of a blobby person and dog, without the slightest care for appearance, but with that solidity the ash had provided, and set them running down the road, leaving a trail of footprints behind. The phantoms moved with preternatural speed. He wasn't sure how long they'd last, or if they'd stay on the road even, but the false trail would be helpful in hiding from the Argents. 

Then he carefully obscured where he and Boy had left the road, and turned back to the dog, who'd been watching him carefully. 

"Okay, buddy, let's go." 

After only a moment's hesitation the dog turned and started leading them away from the road, towards the river he couldn't see. Behind them the road disappeared into the gray, but they hadn't gone far when he heard horses coming closer in the fog, and he glanced back to confirm the trail was indeed still hidden. They kept going as the horses drew closer and he could hear voices as well, even picking Kate's mocking tone out among them.

They kept going long after the sounds of the riders and horses had faded. The sky started to get brighter and the fog thinned noticeably by the time they got to the river. Boy had chosen well. It was a wide shallow stretch of the river, full of rocks and easy to cross. When they were on the other side, Stiles hurriedly steamed the water out of his clothes and shoes, and off of Boys legs before they continued on. Boy stopped periodically to listen and Stiles always stopped when he did. 

The other side of the river was full of soft rises covered in grass, and Boy eventually found a meandering game trail that he settled onto as the sky above grew lighter and lighter, the visible distance further and further, until the blue of the sky started to appear. When the sky fully appeared, and the sunlight started to break up his illusions, he finally let them drop. 

"Okay Boy, now I guess it's on us." The dog gave a single slow wag of his tail and kept walking, and Stiles reached into his bag and grabbed an apple and bit into it. He ate as they walked, and pitched the core into the grass when he was done.

They kept walking as the temperatures rose and the sun got higher and higher in the sky. Finally Stiles spotted a small copse of trees not far away. 

"Hey buddy," he said to the dog, "Do you think we can take a break for a bit?" 

Boy paused and lifted his right paw for a moment, and Stiles pointed out the trees. They gradually make their way over and Stiles slumped down against one of the trees, Boy laid down beside him. After a few minutes Stiles reached into his bag and pulled out another chunk of cheese, breaking off pieces and feeding them to the dog. 

"I'm going to run out of cheese pretty soon," he told the dog, and Boy made a soft huffing noise that Stiles interpreted as disappointment. After they finished the cheese, Boy got up and wandered back into the sunlight, glancing back at Stiles a time or two, but after a moment he disappeared. Stiles started to feel sleepy and fought it for a while, but eventually drifted off to sleep.

He woke up, opening his eyes and immediately saw the dead pig barely more than a foot away, its eyes glassy and vacant, it's tongue flopped out of its mouth. 

"Oh my god!" he shouted, scrambling away in surprise before he saw Boy sitting a few feet away. He calmed down slightly and turned back to the pig that was left uncomfortably close to him. 

"That's not funny," he said to the dog. "I can tell you did that on purpose."

Boy just stared at him, then after a moment he lifted his right paw just a bit before dropping it.

"Such an asshole," Stiles muttered, looking at the pig.

It wasn't big as far as pigs went. A year old descendent of a former farm pig gone feral after the Event no doubt. And also no doubt about how it died, since it's throat was ripped out. 

"You do realize I've never field prepped a pig before right?" he asked Boy, who snorted and let his head fall to the ground, eyes open and still watching. 

Stiles muttered as he pulled out his knife and started examining the pig. Finally he got started, complaining constantly as he worked. He pulled out one of the small squares of plastic he'd packed when he left, part of an old tarp he'd cut down a year before when they'd found it. He worked slowly but steadily, and when he was done, he looked at the remains. 

"So gross," he said. "I liked that tree. It had a nice view. Now it's ruined by pig bones, and pig guts. So so gross." 

Sighing, he started unbuckling his bag. It was a complicated thing, a hybrid creation of Andrew, a guy who lived in Finstock's compound who'd made it after Stiles had seen Andrew's own bag. It was great for long foraging trips, since it had a series of compartments that could be gradually let out or closed up as needed. Once he had the second compartment open, he started to slip the chunks of pork inside, freezing them solid as he did, but leaving out some for him and Boy.

When he was done, he hefted the bag. "Oh my god, you're going to kill me," he groaned, looking at the unrepentant dog. "This weighs a ton." 

Boy gave another of those single tail wags and Stiles just melted. 

"Fiiiiine," he said, "And thank you," he finally added, "Even though it was definitely uncalled for to leave a fifty pound pig beside where I was sleeping. Do you want yours cooked, or raw like a savage?" 

Another beat of the tail, and Boy didn't move, so Stiles took that as 'cooked.' He pulled his small frying pan and the small bag of precious salt out of his bag, and dumped a pair of pork slices in, before sprinkling a tiny amount of salt on them, then he let flames drift down onto it from above, as the pork began to sizzle. Boy watched the whole process with his usual fascination, and Stiles kept cooking the meat, paying attention to make sure that it cooked all the way through, cheating outrageously to raise the internal temperature faster. He used his fork to turn it partway through. Finally when they were done, he let the temperature fall back quickly and called the dog over, picking up first one and then the next and feeding them to him. Then he repeated the process until Boy seemed fully, using up most of the pork he'd left out. 

"You eat more than I expected," he said and Boy did the single tail wag again, as Stiles made a pair of pork slices for himself. It was still a little bland, and he said to the dog, "It needs pepper, god I miss pepper, and maple syrup, did you ever have maple syrup before the Event? Do you even remember your life before the event, or did your memories, like, start when you got supersmart?"

Boy made the single tail wag again without the slightest apparent interest in answering the questions, and Stiles was charmed. A few minutes later he sighed and used the flames to clean the pan before letting it cool and sticking it back in his pack. 

"I suppose we should get moving," Stiles said. "What do you think, do we make for this Morrell place, or try to find a safe place to hole up where Kate can't necessarily find us?" 

Boy stood up and stepped forward, then leaned forward and left a long leisurely lick across his face.

"Gross, dead pig guts," Stiles said with a laugh and then he reached out and buried his hand deep in the dog's fur. "You're the best though, buddy," he said softly to the dog. 

Boy made his huffing sound and stepped away while keeping an eye on Stiles as he adjusted the much heavier pack on his shoulders. 

"Alright," Stiles said when it felt comfortable, "I guess we're on the road again." 

The day was cooler than the day before, while still warm, there was a definite breeze blowing upriver, and Stiles wondered if it was a result of being closer to the ocean or if there was a more serious turn in the weather coming. 

By midafternoon the valley had widened and they'd turned away from the river. He could still see the band of trees that marked the water, and he could see in the distance where the walls of the canyon narrowed again. He wondered if Kate Argent was still looking for them, and how close she was. A couple of times Boy acted like he heard something, and Stiles would pause so his movements weren't covering any sound. But both times he'd gone back to moving forward, so Stiles interpreted them as false alarms. 

By late afternoon the clouds were starting to come in thicker and darker. A definite shift in the temperatures happened as well. They were getting closer and closer to where the valley walls drew in closer, and Stiles was torn between trying to find a safe spot in one of the old ruined houses they'd gone past or continuing on. He'd asked Boy about it, but the dog hadn't had a strong opinion, so they'd continued on. Stiles started looking more and more for a safe looking place for the night, while above them the sky started to get darker and darker. 

Once the clouds were firmly covering the sun, Stiles started building a partial dome above them of heat strong enough to turn any rain to steam and keep them semi-dry, a trick he'd spent too many winter rainstorms perfecting when things got boring. The heat radiated upwards, so it was imperceptible to them, though Stiles wondered if Boy could detect it somehow because he kept glancing up, and then glancing at Stiles. 

The hills closed back in, and he could hear the river close by. The old road they were on grew rutted and broken by washed out sections, and Stiles started to curse himself in his head for not stopping at one of the ruins while they'd had the chance. The sky got darker as the clouds got heavier and evening progressed. 

He saw the first raindrops start to fall, and then the rain began in earnest, but the heat umbrella he'd constructed did it's work, keeping them mostly dry. It was almost dark when he heard the first strange sound, a strange sound of the water, hitting something different. In the near-dark and in the rain he wasn't sure which way it was, and he spoke softly to Boy, "I think there's something out there." 

The dog gave him a look and the single tail wag, and Stiles broadened the heat umbrella, making it thicker and holding it ready to bring it down as a weapon if needed. Heat was useful against most of the fae, though not all. 

He could hear the river getting closer and louder. So there was a good barrier in one direction at least, as long as they kept away from the octacles it contained. 

The road climbed up, away from the river, but he could still hear it below them, rushing among the rocks. They crested the top of the rise and the road started to drop back down, when the thing rushed out of the night. 

He brought the edges of the heat umbrella down, turning it to fire in an instant, but the creature ignored it, letting the fire dance off it's scales. It was long and sinuous, like a lizard mated to a snake with a nightmare head. Stiles scrambled for his knife which he'd failed to loosen, while Boy growled and leapt toward the thing. 

As it came closer, Stiles got a better look at the face, and there was something almost human about it, bearded and wild, half reptile, half man maybe. And in the slight glimpse there was something familiar about the face.

Boy dove for its front leg, and ripped at it, the monster roaring, as it's tail snapped forward, which the dog barely avoided. When it came into the light, Stiles could see a stinger attached to it, like a scorpion. 

"Gross," he said, finally getting his knife free, but unsure what to do. Boy dove back in, clawing huge wounds into the beast which shrieked in fury and turned toward the dog, and when it did, Stiles darted in and cut at the other side. The tail whipped back towards him, but he was ready, when it came close he reached up and seized a hold of it briefly, just long enough for him to focus on ice and cold and freezing.

If he thought the monster had shrieked before, it was nothing to what it did now. But Stiles had gotten a hold of it and the ice spread and spread up it's body. The heat umbrella and the fire faded as he fed his power and attention into freezing the thing. Boy pulled away, but kept the monster focused on him. The ice moved upwards past the hind legs, and the abomination shrieked again, as it thrashed around, trying to find an enemy it could attack. In just a few moments it had stopped moving, frozen, literally, in place. 

Boy stepped back as the rain started to soak them, still growling softly to himself or possibly at the frozen thing. 

Stiles was exhausted by the sudden use of so much power at once, and stood gasping in the air. 

Frozen he could get a closer look at the thing, though he struggled to summon the ghost light to see. What it revealed was something he'd never heard of. Confirming the far too human face, and the half lizard half insect body. There was something very wrong about the way they were melded together, unnatural in the way that some of the fae were. He looked at the half transformed face again, that tickle of familiarity even stronger with seeing it up close. 

"That's gross," Stiles said to the dog, who huffed his agreement in the rain. Stiles slid his knife back into place, and secured it, "And hopefully there's not another one of those around." 

He shifted the pack on his back, getting it comfortable again, and as he did he started to turn back for another look at the monster’s face, a movement which saved his life when the first arrow slammed into his pack, narrowly missing both his arm and his body, then a moment behind the first, a second arrow slammed into Boy's chest.

The dog howled in rage, and his eyes seemed to light up with a reflection of the light as Stiles turned toward the direction they'd come from in the dark and struggled past his exhaustion to summon more light, and a moment later a weight slammed into him from the side, taking him a moment to recognize it was the dog, and then both of them tumbled over the cliff towards the roaring of the water below. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh.  
> We’re you thinking there wasn’t a cliffhanger coming up? 
> 
> /cackles evilly/
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are life. And thanks for reading!!


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles hit the water with a gasp and immediately choked as water rushed into his mouth. He tried to struggle back to the surface which seemed to get lost in the darkness. He couldn't summon fire in the water, or light, and cold wasn't going to do him any good.

He could feel the rushing water all around, and the brush of rocks as he swept past them. It felt like an eternity passed before he broke the surface again.

He spat out the water in his mouth, then gasped in a lungful of fresh air as he looked around for Boy in the dark. 

He floated on the surface, and in the darkness and rain he could see glimpses of the shadowed form of rocks around him, but no dog. Just the rocks and the dark angry water. He tried to struggle towards the shore, but his hands slipped off the rocky edges and the river tore him away in a rush. 

He concentrated on staying afloat after the third or fourth attempt to get out of the water. The water would pull him under again and he'd eventually emerge on the surface. 

Each time he'd look around for Boy but the dog was nowhere to be seen, and he didn't want to give Kate a direction to start shooting again. He couldn't concentrate enough to call light, and was afraid of Kate seeing him if he did. 

"Boy?" he said in a low hiss, panicking since he hadn't seen the dog since he entered the water. "Are you there?" 

He'd realized as he fell that the dog was trying to get him away from Kate, out of certain danger into only likely danger. But it hadn't lessened the shock of hitting the water.

The water slammed him into another rock before whirling him on down the river, and he struggled to keep his head up again. He noticed that the rain was starting to lighten up, or maybe he just didn't notice it as much with all the water all around him. 

The rough passage felt eternal. He thought it was hours, it certainly felt like hours. But it may have only been thirty or forty minutes before the river quietened around him, and he looked around to see that the cliffs had retreated away from the edges again, and it had grown broad and placid again. He could see trees along the riverbank, and started to struggle towards the edge, intent on getting out of the water. Exhausted by the cold and shock and terror of the night. 

As he struggled through the water, he felt a chill go up his spine for some reason, and had just noticed the sound of something that almost seemed to slither in the water around him before he felt long powerful arms of some kind grip him, he grabbed onto one of the arms with his hand and realized it was slick and almost slimy, and then he realized he'd flailed right into the grip of an octacle. 

"Fuck!" he yelped and tried to squirm out of its grip, tried to summon light or fire, but both only flickered into existence, useless with all the water around him. He felt more and more tentacles wrap around him, and then he managed to get a grip on the tentacle again and in panic concentrated on ice. 

The tentacle started to stiffen under his hand, and the other tentacles started to loosen around him. He concentrated more on ice, until his grip turned cold and he could feel it start to stiffen more and more. The other tentacles started to writhe around him, pushing at him back and forth in their haste to get whatever was causing it pain away from itself. He willed more and more cold into it, until the tentacles around him started to go limp, before they stiffened and froze themselves.

Once the octacle was frozen and unmoving, he used it as a grip to pull himself towards shore, until soaked and shaking, either from the adrenaline or the cold he wasn't completely sure, he finally broke into the shallow water near the shore.

Once he was safely out of the water, he collapsed on the ground. The rain had indeed lightened to just a light drizzle, and he tried to shrug off his pack. It took several tries before he managed to get it off. 

He focused on heat, to try and remove the pounds of river water soaking his clothes, but all that happened was a strange whirling sensation in his head, and then unconsciousness rolled over him like a wave. 

Just as he passed out he could swear he felt hands grab him roughly and pick him up, and then he was out. 

****

Stiles came awake slowly, hearing the sounds of a fire and feeling the heat on the side of his face and the scent of actual woodsmoke in the air. He opened his eyes and blinked in confusion. The contents of his bag and his clothes were spread around the fire, and it took him a moment to realize it was an attempt to get them all to dry. He shifted slightly to get a better look around and gasped as pain shot through his body. 

He realized that under the unfamiliar blanket he was completely naked, and blushed. He struggled to sit up again, this time ready for the barrage of pain. 

"Ooph," he said, finally getting himself upright and looking around, not seeing anyone. 

The blanket smelled old and musty, and Stiles let it slip off of him a little as he looked around. There was the fire and a small stack of wood, broken and smashed not cut, and he was surrounded by trees. He could hear the rushing water of the river, so he assumed he was close to where he'd come ashore and the canyon was still close by. 

He hesitated for a moment as he started to call for heat, remembering what had happened when he tried it after freezing the octacle, and knowing that there was someone nearby who had stripped him and built a fire to keep him warm. After another moment's hesitation passed, he called just a little heat, and then more, letting it seep into the chilly air around him, and merging with the heat from the fire, creating a limit with his will where the heat didn't escape. 

He relaxed when he realized that whatever exhaustion he had felt was gone, and he poured his will into his clothes, and a hiss of steam as first his pants and then his shirt and boxers dried. He struggled to his feet, feeling like every bone and muscle in his body was bruised, and carefully made his way to his clothes, and slipped into them, groaning slightly when he saw all the holes his time in the river and the fight with octacle had ripped in them. 

He found his socks close by his shoes, and with another hiss of escaping water they dried out and he slid them back on. 

Dressed he started in with drying out his pack. It was empty but still waterlogged and it took him awhile to get all the buckles and belts undone so he could make sure it dried out thoroughly, then he went through the tedious process of reassembling it into its normal configuration and drying out everything else. He ran across the waterlogged remains of his map, and groaned. Then tossed it closer to the fire so it could dry out and be burned. He hoped he remembered the details Argent had told him. 

He was putting the frozen pork back in his bag when he felt more than heard someone nearby. He paused and looked around before finally seeing a guy standing in the trees not far away. On first impression the stranger might possibly be the hottest person he’d ever seen. It was like looking up and seeing an underwear model from before the event, when he knew he must look like a drowned rat. 

"I'm guessing you're the one who built the fire?" he said to the man, trying to break the silence. 

The man didn't say anything, but nodded curtly after a moment. 

“Thanks dude.” 

“Don’t call me dude,” the man growled, “It’s Derek.”

“You and the dog,” Stiles said, struggling to wake up fully, “Seriously, start a club.” Then the man's name caught his attention, "Wait, Derek?" he said, astonished, "Like Derek Hale?" 

The man stiffened, then nodded again.

"Dude," Stiles breathed.

"I said don't call me dude," Derek said, his eyebrows twisting up in an irritated manner, that made him immediately twenty times less scary.

"Sorry," Stiles said unapologetically. "But like, your dog is around here somewhere, I think." Stiles was still trying to piece together all the memories of the night before.

Derek gave him another look and stepped closer, like he was afraid Stiles would bolt if he moved too suddenly, or perhaps that Derek might bolt if Stiles did. It was hard to say which. "My dog?" the man said blankly.

"Well," Stiles said, "I mean, I guess he was your sister's dog. And I sort of stole him." 

Derek froze, and Stiles continued, "and, oh god, I'm totally sorry about her. I know-" he paused, "I know how hard it is. Losing someone. But I didn't even know you existed until Boy and I were already a couple of days from your house." 

Derek gave him a long look that Stiles couldn't identify, then made a huffing sound that reminded Stiles of Boy, then the man relaxed and came closer. 

"I see your spark is strong again," the man said as he stepped into the heat around the fire, and Stiles could feel the warm air move around him as he stepped inside the boundary.

"Yeah I-" Stiles said and paused, "Wait, how do you know I'm a spark?" 

Derek gave him a long look that implied he wasn't very bright. "Besides the frozen tentacle monster you left in the river before you collapsed? Or the sparks and jets of fire I dodged to pull you closer to the fire." 

"Oh," Stiles said half embarrassed, "Sorry." 

"You're an idiot,” Derek said scathingly, "You're going to get yourself killed out here if you keep using your spark to exhaustion like that." 

"I mean-" Stiles began.

"No," Derek said. "Shut up and listen." He glared at Stiles like he was contemplating murder, "The world is dangerous. Just because you have some power doesn't mean it's not going to be able to kill you if you're not more careful." 

Stiles closed his mouth, remembering the shock of the arrow hitting his bag the night before, the moment of panic before Boy had knocked him into the river. He pressed his lips tightly together and went back to shoving things in his bag. 

"I think your salt got ruined in the river," Derek said and Stiles flinched away from how much closer the man was.

"Yeah probably. That packet was mostly in case of rain, not floating for twenty miles in a river." 

"More," Derek said. 

"More what?" 

"It was more than twenty miles. I saw you go in the river. It's almost forty miles through the rapids."

"Wow, okay, that's a way to cut a day off the journey I guess," Stiles said.

"Dangerous though."

"Well, I think Boy was more worried about the crazy woman shooting arrows at us." 

Derek nodded. "Kate." 

"Can I ask a personal question?" Stiles said.

Derek snorted but then he nodded. 

"Is she the one who killed your sister?"

Derek was quiet for a moment, then he nodded, before adding, "She came back to finish the job she started. First she killed my family. Then Peter, and finally Laura. I'm the only one left."

"Why?" Stiles said. "Why does she hate you all so much?"

"They're Argents," Derek said simply. 

"I mean Gerard definitely seemed a little crazy," Stiles said, "but he doesn't kill everyone does he?"

"He'll kill anyone he thinks of as an enemy," Derek said, "And an enemy is anyone who disagrees or opposes him." 

"And Kate?" 

"Kate kills because she enjoys killing." 

"Oh," Stiles said, feeling awkward. 

"She'll be after you," Derek added. 

"My dad-" 

"She'll leave him alone unless you go home. She's relentless and dangerous." 

"Well, maybe I'm dangerous too," Stiles said. 

Derek snorted. 

"Remember that octacle in the river?" Stiles said, and Derek turned and gave him a level stare.

"Could you do that to a person?" he asked.

Stiles was quiet for a moment, "I think so." 

"I don't," Derek said flatly. "Most people overestimate how easily they could kill."

"Talking from experience?" Stiles said mockingly.

"Yes," Derek said flatly. "But it gets easier the more you do it."

Stiles opened his mouth but nothing came out. The way Derek said it — well, Stiles believed him. There was a certain note of defiance that didn't seem faked.

"Oh," he finally got out as he stuffed the last canister in place, then glanced around. "Fuck," he said, getting up and walking around. 

"What?" Derek said.

"I lost it. Boy's shirt," Stiles said, looking back quickly before he started towards the water. "Fuck. He trusted me with it, and I lost it." 

"A shirt," Derek said flatly, following a few steps behind. "you're losing your shit over a shirt." 

"It's not my shirt to lose!" Stiles shouted. "Don't you get that, he trusted me, and I failed." He picked up speed, searching everywhere along the way until he got to the river's edge. When he got there, he saw the still half frozen body of the octacle, its body mid-writhe like some bizarre art installation. Stiles searched the arms of the monster with his eyes, looking for a vivid flash of red anywhere.

"Fuck. Fuck," he said under his breath, not seeing it anywhere. He started down the river bank, watching the edges for the shirt. 

Derek kept pace with him. Not saying anything, just watching him with the most mystified look on his face, like he thought Stiles was a legitimately crazy person.

Finally, after he'd lost track of time and how far he'd come, Stiles stopped, and just stared at the river. Flowing endlessly towards the ocean, and he just knew what had happened. The shirt had come loose in the river, either while floating or while struggling with the octacle, and drifted downriver. It might even be in the ocean by now. 

He turned and started back up the river bank, passing closer in front of Derek than he'd yet been. He kept watch all the way back up, just in case. When he got to the frozen octacle, he turned back toward the campsite. As he walked toward the campsite, he saw a stick on the ground, and something about the way it lay and shape jogged a memoory of the night before. Boy. Before he shoved Stiles into the river, the dog had been shot. Stiles was sure of it. "I have to go." he said, and grabbed his bag. Wincing a little as he lifted it onto his shoulders, he turned back to Derek, "If you think I'm so useless, why did you even bother to rescue me?"

Derek stilled. "Because Kate wants you dead," he said haltingly. 

Stiles didn't respond for a moment, digesting that statement. Trying to grasp the mindset of that statement. 

"Well, thanks," he finally said, "for saving me. For the fire. You didn't have to and you did." He hesitated, "Is there anything I can do to pay you back? Do you need some pork? I've got plenty." His chest tightened at the thought of giving away Boy's pig. "Or I can make a cold room for you or something." 

"What did I say about overtaxing your spark?" Derek said with a roll of the eyes. "No, I don't need anything." He was quiet for a moment, "So you're leaving then?"

"Yeah. I'm going to try and find Boy. He got shot by one of Kate's arrows. He's out there hurt."

Derek was quiet for a moment and then he said, "I could come with you," then added, "to help look." 

"You don't even like me," Stiles said, and Derek didn't reply. "Why?"

Derek took a long time to respond. "Because you care about the stupid dog," Derek said, "And I'm not doing anything else. Besides if Kate shows up and kills you while you're searching it was a waste of my time to save you last night." 

“Fair enough." 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He’s so much more pleasant when he can’t talk isn’t he? Lol.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are my life. Let me know if you have any questions!


	9. Chapter 9

They started the search upstream. Well, Stiles searched. Derek mostly just loomed in the background. He wasn't sure what the man was doing still following him. And the longer they searched, and the stranger Derek acted, the more Stiles concentrated on what the man wanted. 

And the more he thought about everything the man had said. 

And the more he obsessed over the one detail of Derek's story that didn't fit. 

Derek said he'd seen Stiles go into the river and that it had been forty miles upstream. Stiles knew how long it took to cover twenty miles, let alone forty. So how had Derek both seen him go into the river, seen Kate shoot him, and still been able to get through the cliffs and rocks to where the narrow chasm would end. And it was clear that Derek had seen him fall, he knew too much. 

But where had he been standing to see so much? It was dark and rainy. Stiles hadn't been able to bring up much light besides the fire he'd used on the thing. And fire he knew occluded as much as it revealed. 

It was a mystery. And he didn't think Derek was likely to explain any of it if he asked him. Which meant that the question really became, could he trust Derek? Could he trust the man's secrets weren't dangerous?

When they reached the place where the river emerged from the rocky narrow gorge, he was able to get a sense of the impossibility of the search. He just stared at the impassable cliffs and roaring river, realizing he'd gotten lucky the night before that he hadn't died.

"We're not going to find him are we?" he asked Derek.

"I don't think so, no," Derek said. 

Stiles was quiet, his heart aching for the dog who'd become his friend in such a short time, and then as a tear broke free he scrubbed away. He had failed Boy. The dog had trusted him to keep him safe, and he'd gotten him shot and probably killed. 

The nice thing about Derek, Stiles decided, was he didn't feel the need to fill the silence. He just let Stiles have his space and when Stiles had come to terms with not being about to go any further back, he turned and looked back at the man, who'd retreated not far away, watching the cliffs on the opposite side of the river intensely.

"Looking for Kate?" Stiles asked.

"Any of her hunters," Derek said. "She's got four of them with her, plus the beast." 

"The weird lizard insect thing?" Stiles asked. "I don't think it's going to be a problem anymore. I froze it as solid as the octacle."

"That's such a stupid name," Derek said with a huff, "But no, it's not dead." He turned to look at Stiles, "It's a manticore. It'll take more than a little ice to kill it." 

"Wait, seriously?" Stiles said. "Gross, that thing was a nightmare." 

"They're rare," Derek said. "Fortunately. I'm not sure how she keeps it under control."

"Maybe they're friends." Stiles said.

"Kate doesn't have friends," Derek said, his voice low. "Just people who are useful to her, and people to kill."

"Jesus." Stiles added, "Okay, so if I see it again, how do I kill it?" 

"I don't know," Derek said. "You freezing it was the first time I've heard of anything stopping one." 

"Oh," Stiles said.

"I don't think you're useless," Derek said after a moment. "I just think you're reckless." 

Stiles didn't know how to respond to that, so he changed the subject. 

"I sort of lost my map," Stiles said. “I remember the gorge being on it, but the directions I had were for the road on the other side."

"Where are you going?" Derek asked. "I never-" he paused for a moment, "You haven't said." 

"Oh!" Stiles said, "So there was a hunter, and he came to my pod, and he met this girl a while back, in a compound on the coast. It's my girlfriend from before the Event, Heather. I'm going to see her." 

"Why?" Derek asked bluntly.

Stiles got quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to say it so it wasn't weird. "I know I haven't seen her or anything in years. And she's probably just as different from before as I am. But there's no one in my pod or the ones near us that's single really, you know?" 

"You're trekking 100 miles for a date?" Derek asked, sounding almost horrified.

"Not a date exactly," Stiles said, "I don't know anything about her life now." He tried to find words, "But I have to do something," he finally got out, "Or else I'm going to be old and alone and never have even tried for something. It's like admitting the Event really did end my life, and I was just spending the rest of the time waiting to die from it." 

Derek didn't reply to that, but he turned away and glanced back the way they had come. "The wind's shifted," he said after a moment. "Do you smell something?" 

Stiles sniffed the air, but didn't notice anything, and shook his head. 

"What do you smell?" Stiles asked.

"Smoke," Derek said, "And not far away." He set off back down the river, and after a moment Stiles followed after him. Derek stopped regularly to wait for the air to move just right to try and figure out where the scent of smoke was coming from, and Stiles spent the time scouring the river as best he could for Boy. 

Derek seemed to get it, and he made for every bit of slightly higher ground where Stiles could get a good vantage point to watch the river on both sides, and Derek could get higher to try and find where the smoke was coming from. 

It was almost two hours before Stiles finally caught scent of the smoke himself. 

Derek had already decided that it wasn't that the fire was close, but that it was big. 'Something burned,' he said. And, remembering Derek's house, Stiles hadn't asked any questions and just followed along. 

****

The ashes were still warm. 

That was the thing that bothered Stiles the most when they finally found the source of the smoke. While he slept just a few miles away, these people had been attacked and died. 

It had been a good sized house, though not enough remained to guess if it had been more than a single story. Stiles stared at it, the tragedy of the place surviving the event only to end like this, in fire and tragedy hit him hard. 

He wondered if everyone had gotten out okay.

He started to move around, looking for signs of people leaving the house, and it wasn't long before he saw the first hoofprints. 

Horses. 

He looked around further, and finally found what he was looking for at the edge of the trees; rifle casings with the fleur di lis stamped on them. 

Kate Argent had done this. And by the timing it was after he had gone into the river. With horses the distance would have been no problem. He wondered if she thought he'd ended up here. Or if this was just the next stop in her murderous path through the world. 

What could possibly tie all the murders together, he wondered. They were far from the Argent stronghold in Beacon Hills. He kept searching, looking for clues that would make it all make sense. 

When he found the splashes of blood not far from the house, his heart sank. The rifle casings had made him suspect there were no survivors, but he kept searching until, not far from the house, he found the graves. 

Nothing about her made him think that Kate had dug graves for her victims, especially not separate ones. And he couldn't imagine a murderer leaving flowers on all the graves. Two sets of bouquets lay on each grave, like two survivors had paid their last respects after burying the victims. Large clumps of purple flowers, probably from someone's garden. 

Stiles bent down to straighten one of the bouquets which had fallen apart to straighten it. 

"Be careful," Derek said. "They're poisonous." 

Stiles glanced up at the man, and pulled his hand free. "Who leaves poisonous flowers at a grave?" 

"It's tradition," Derek said. "The Talbots. They were like family to us. Now we're all gone." 

Stiles' mind started to put things together. The little hints at the edge of things all coming together to form a pattern. 

"This has to do with things before the Event, doesn't it?" he asked Derek. "This is what Gerard was talking about. He said before the Event they hunted dangerous things." 

Derek didn't respond for a long time before he said, "No one in my family ever hurt anyone. None of the Talbots either. The Argents hunt because they're killers."

"Murderers," Stiles said, and Derek turned back to him, and gave him a long stare before nodding once. 

"Is this how you were able to cover more than forty miles in the dark and rain to pull me out of the river?" Stiles asked, and Derek turned away and refused to look at him. 

"It's not-" Stiles started to say, "You know you can trust me a little bit right?" Stiles said. 

“I don’t trust anyone,” Derek said flatly. “And you sure as hell shouldn’t trust me.” 

"Are you stupid?" Stiles said, shocked and hurt, "I obviously trust that you don't want me dead, since you've had like three thousand opportunities to kill me, or just leave me for dead if that's what you wanted. "

Derek tensed up. "Stop," he said, his voice low and menacing. 

"No," Stiles said, stubbornness kicking in, "I want to have this out now, I-" he stopped as Derek pushed him to the ground and fell on top of him.

"Shut. Up." The man whispered softly in his ear, "There's something near." 

Stiles went limp, looking up at the man's face that was so close to him. His attention hyper focused on every sound. He could hear his own breathing, and Derek’s. Further away were birds, and the sounds of the river. He concentrated closer. Listening for whatever Derek had heard, and he wondered if this was part of whatever the Argents feared about the Hales and the Talbots, senses more than normal. Was this how Derek had seen him in the night? How he'd followed the smoke for miles before Stiles could even smell it? 

Stiles' mind raced, and he watched Derek's face as he tilted his head, moving it slightly from side to side, and Stiles realized he was trying to triangulate the sound. Stiles glanced around at how much shadow there was where they were laying, and decided it was maybe enough. He closed his eyes and breathed out a hint of his power, ignoring Derek when he tensed up on top of him. Stiles let the thread of his power thin into a lightweight blanket of power, a delicate illusion of their surroundings without them present. When he opened his eyes Derek was staring down at his face. Above the man he could see the slight haze of the illusion laying over them. Stiles relaxed again, and concentrated on reweaving the illusion as the sunlight ate into it. It wasn't power consuming so much as it was attention consuming. Monitoring and repairing. Making sure it never burned away entirely. 

He'd often wondered what it was about sunlight that made his powers so much weaker in it. If he'd woven the same illusion at night it would have held without any upkeep at all. But during the day it was a constant effort even in the shade, and in direct sunlight it would unravel faster than he could repair it. 

He let his mind slip into the half trance of repair and replace, while he left it to Derek to keep watch above him. A warm presence anchoring his body while he let his mind concentrate elsewhere. 

It was nice, if unfamiliar. 

He let his mind drift into the weaving of the illusion, until he felt Derek tense again, shifting his thoughts back to his surroundings, though he still kept hold of the illusion. He could hear it now. A heavy slithering sound, somewhere near. He fought the urge to look around, and concentrated on the illusion, while above him Derek was almost quivering with tension. 

The sound drew closer and closer, heavy and strange as whatever it was moved through the high grass and low bushes. And in his head he could only imagine that it was the manticore again. Finally it got close enough that it appeared in Stiles's limited range of sight, and he saw it's face again and he realized that behind the scales and beard, he recognized the face. 

Matt Dahler.

His mind tumbled through all the facts he'd learned, putting them back together in an organized fashion. The outlying pods being destroyed. Matt's visit. The way he'd carefully laid the trail of knowing Heather to him. 

It was all a trap. 

Was Heather even still alive? 

He let his hand press harder against the ground. He didn't know why he always felt the need to touch the things he made cold, he knew that it wasn't necessary, but the power felt more personal somehow. He closed his eyes and pulled a strand of power free from his illusion and let it drift to where he knew Matt was, just a few feet away. He let the strands of power multiply, while he maintained the strength of his illusion, weaving together one and then the other. When he felt it was enough, he called the cold into the limitation he'd created around the shape of the manticore. 

His eyes snapped open when the monster realized what was going on, but it was already too late. He could watch the abomination's body stiffen, as it thrashed as if to free itself from his power. 

But it could not, and soon it was still and unmoving again. And Stiles smiled before he tilted his head back up towards Derek who was staring down at him again.

"Is there anyone else?" he said as softly as he could, and Derek shook his head after a moment, so Stiles let the illusion fade away. 

Derek didn't move, still looking down at Stiles face, pressed against him for protection. Stiles took a breath and enjoyed the feeling of warmth for a moment before he said, "Do you want to let me up big guy?" 

Derek rolled off of him instantly, and Stiles clambered to his feet and made his way over to the manticore. 

"His name is Matt," Stiles said. "When he's human. Matt Dahler. Gerard said he was a hunter that worked with Kate. He was the one who came to my pod and told me he knew Heather."

Derek stepped closer to him, and tentatively reached out a hand to touch the smooth side of the monster. 

Stiles knew from experience that it would feel smooth and cool, but not icy. The ice was limited to the inside of the magic. He could feel the sun working at the limitation, even here in the shade, and it took more effort to maintain than the simple illusion had. 

"Do you think he was lying about Heather?" Stiles said. "Do you think it was a trick to get me away from my pod, away from my dad?" 

"I don't know,” Derek said. "Maybe." 

"I didn't even think he knew about my being a spark," Stiles replied. "I feel so dumb." 

"We-" Derek started to say then said, "I think he might have been able to tell." 

"I didn't know that," Stiles said, then his curiosity got to him. "What's it like?" he asked, wondering if Derek would answer. "I know you're something. Not like him, not an abomination, but something. You hear better than me and smell too. Probably sight. Like a superhero." 

"I'm not a superhero," Derek said .

"I said like one," Stiles replied. "You're all growly with super senses, like Wolverine. you just need the sideburns. Well, and the claws." 

Derek gave him a long look, and then actually laughed. It was the first time Stiles had heard the sound, and it was... well,it was a perfect sound. And inside Stiles something went, 'Oh.' Because Derek should always be laughing. For that brief moment Stiles saw exactly who Derek should be. Laughing, and happy, and Stiles just wanted to make that happen for him. 

Derek looked back at him, still smiling, and Stiles felt himself smile too. 

"It's a little like the feeling before a storm, when you can tell the lightning is coming," Derek said. Then added, "That's what your power is like." 

Stiles nodded. "Can I hide it?"

Derek shrugged, "I don't know. I've never met anyone who felt like that before."

"I'm just a spark," Stiles said. 

"Maybe that's all you've ever tried to be," Derek replied. "Maybe you found your power and stopped trying to experiment." 

Stiles paused when Derek said that. He hadn't ever really tried anything else. He knew the kinds of things it was commonly said sparks could do, and just tried them out. He'd never really tried anything else.

He wondered what else he might be able to do if he tried. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, I did updates the chapter count down one. That little unplanned push off the cliff altered my outline somewhat and fixed a slow chapter out of existence (it made me hate to compact some bonding a bit, but you don’t mind do you?)
> 
> Anyway, comments and kudos give me the strength to get out of bed, and if you have questions drop them in the comments!


	10. Chapter 10

Of course that's when things got ruined, and Stiles would fully admit, if only to himself, that he's the one who did it. 

A flash of red caught his eye from the edge of Derek's jacket and he reached over and caught the edge of whatever it was, and Boy's shirt tumbled loose.

Stiles looked at the shirt, and then at Derek's renewed expression of stony silence and said, “Wait, you had it this whole time? While I was searching for it, were you, like, laughing at me in your head?" Stiles said, feeling angry and somehow betrayed, "It’s not yours to take!” 

“Well it’s certainly not yours!” Derek spat back.

“No, it’s my dog’s, he trusted me with it. And I was supposed to keep it safe,” Stiles said. "I'm going, I'm going—" his voice broke off, and it hit him again. He wasn't going to see Boy again, because Boy was probably dead because of Kate Argent, and because of him.

“Your dog,” Derek said. His voice was suddenly soft and emotionless. 

“Yes. He’s—" Stiles broke off again, "I know he was Laura's before, but he chose to come with me. He chose me. He was so awesome. He was brave and he saved my life, and he was like basically my best friend in the world and he’s gone." 

Derek was silent for a long time before he said, "It was my sister's. She loved it, it was probably her favorite shirt. It still had a little bit of her scent. That's why—" Derek hesitated, like he was trying to figure out how to say something, "it's why he liked it. He could forget sometimes that she was gone, for a minute or two she was alive again." 

Stiles had never felt like he'd intruded on someone's private grief as much as he did in that moment. And he wasn't sure how to respond. They were talking about Derek's sister. Stiles kept forgetting that Boy had a whole life before Stiles had met him, and that life included Derek.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said. "About what I said. I just miss him, you know? You're great, even with all the scowling and angry eyebrows, but I really loved that dog. Even if we only knew each other for a few days."

Derek jerked his head in a sort of awkward acceptance, before he leaned down to pick up the shirt and reached out to hand it to Stiles. "You're right, I shouldn't have taken it. Or I should have told you I had it," he said, "Here." 

Stiles didn't take it, instead he looked at it, and looked at Derek for a long moment, "Can you still smell her?" he asked, "With, like, your super-powered abilities?"

"They're not superpowers," Derek said with his usual level of annoyance. "But yeah, a little bit. The water made it a lot weaker but it's still there." 

"Then you should keep it," Stiles said. "Like you said, she was your sister." 

Derek hesitated, then pulled the shirt back closer to himself, gripping it tightly, and nodded curtly. 

Stiles knew they needed a change in conversation, and he turned back to Matt's frozen form. "What do we do with that? He's going to melt eventually. The sunlight keeps eating into the limitation of the magic." 

Derek looked at the frozen manticore for a moment. "How much ground do you need between the sun and him to keep him frozen?" 

"A few inches," Stiles said, eyeing the frozen monster. "More than we can easily dig down."

"We don't have to dig down," Derek said. "There's tunnels under the house. We can put him there and no sunlight will get in."

Stiles nodded and glanced at the frozen manticore, "Will he fit?"

"He'll fit," Derek said with certainty.

He did fit. 

Barely. But between Stiles and Derek (ninety percent Derek really) they got the manticore into the tunnel and dragged it far enough in to make sure it stayed out of the light. Derek paused once and sniffed the air, which Stiles found more charming than he'd ever admit, and almost growled out, "Kate was in here." 

"I figured it was her," Stiles said, then he remembered a question he'd had earlier, "Did she bury the bodies too? That seems weirdly respectful from a psycho murderer." 

"No," Derek said. "Lori and Brett survived. They're younger than me. I could smell them everywhere out there." 

Stiles nodded. "Do they have someone they can go to?" 

Derek stilled. "I don't know," he said. "We were the closest of our kind to them, but they probably knew other pa—" he paused, "Others like us." 

Stiles made a note of the dodge, but was more interested in something Derek implied, "So each family is like a cell of a resistance movement," he said, "You might know one or two others, but no one knows everyone, so no one can betray everyone." 

"Even we can be tortured," Derek said bitterly, "Broken. Or sometimes tricked into revealing things." 

Stiles reached out and let his hand settle on Derek's arm for a moment, who tensed up and froze at the contact. 

"Maybe—" Stiles started to say, "maybe you should try to find them. See if they have somewhere to go?" 

Derek thought about it for a minute then nodded once. 

"Okay," Stiles said, "I'll hang out here. Maybe scout around the area close by. This tunnel is a nice place. Dark with spiders and stuff everywhere, but I'd like to get some fresh air before dark." 

Derek smiled slightly, and relaxed. "Okay," he said, "I'll try to track them down." He pulled his jacket off and handed it to Stiles. "I'll run faster without it." 

The jacket had the same musty scent as the blanket he'd woken up with that morning, and Stiles wondered where Derek had been staying since Laura's death. He hoped it wasn't the ruins of his family home.

Stiles slipped the jacket on, it was a little big for him, but it had a comfortable weight to it. He followed Derek out into the daylight, and watched as the man took off running into the woods, following a trail that only he could. Stiles sighed and wandered back to where he'd dropped his bag, and grabbed it, taking it back down into the tunnel, but only as far as the little niche just inside the entrance. 

Then he checked to make sure the limitations on Matt were intact, before he wandered back out into the daylight. 

The sun had shifted in the sky while they'd worked, and around the puffy clouds he could see where it was starting to get closer to the western horizon. Evening wasn't far away. He wondered how long it would take Derek to find Brett and Lori. 

He wandered the area around the remains of the house, getting a fuller sense of how things had been organized. The huge gardens that had already been planted and the tiny shoots of new growth. The spring that had been redirected and set up for irrigating the garden. 

It was an idyllic sort of place, and it made Stiles long for the easier times before the Event. Or maybe it was just the absence of harpies around the Talbot house.

Which made him think back for a moment, he hadn't actually seen a harpy in days. Not since before he'd found the remains of the Hale house. Which led him to wonder what Derek and the Talbot's were exactly that the fae seemed to avoid them so.

  
  


The sun was still just above the horizon when he heard the first sound in the trees. 

He thought it was Derek for a moment, but then he heard it again. A horse's little call from one to another. He'd heard it before.

Kate Argent had returned. 

He reached for his spark,and draped himself in illusion. Then turned and started back toward the tunnel to hide. Kate got there before he did. 

She clearly already knew where the tunnel was since she'd gone straight there. 

"Oh Matt," he could hear her say when she went inside, "he got you again didn't he?" She walked back out of the tunnel and looked around, before she turned to the other hunters, "Matt's little spark and Derek Hale have been here. They can't be far." 

"You should have killed that mutt when you had the chance," One of the men said, then he turned and started to move off slowly, following some trail he could see.

Stiles froze, uncertain what to do. 

The sun decided for him, the clouds parting and bathing him in direct sunlight, shattering the illusion wrapped around him. 

One of the men pointed at him, "There!" he shouted, and Stiles turned and ran, zigzagging slightly as ran to make a harder-to-hit target. He tried to pull together a new illusion but the sun was strong and the angle made it easy for the sunlight to hit him. He finally got out of the sunlight and pulled the illusion into place, but the riders were close behind. He changed direction, running as quietly as he could. [[[this version is fine. ;) ]]

He heard one of them say an angry 'fuck' behind him as he disappeared, and he smiled a little. He looked around him at the thin grass and soft soil. Even he knew he was likely leaving a trail a blind tracker might follow. He kept running, watching for something he could use to break up his trail to throw off the hunters behind him. 

He found it not far into the trees, a stretch of ground broken up by rocky surface with thin vegetation spotting it. The sun had moved behind clouds again, and he carefully picked his way through the rocky ground, shifting direction from his original course and slowing down a bit, but certain it was worth it to avoid leaving a trail. Behind him he could hear when the hunters found the end of his trail. He kept going. 

The ground started to rise, and he realized that he'd reached the end of the little valley and the hills were closing in again. He slowed down as the evening settled in, afraid to brave even a little light. He hadn't heard the horses or the hunters behind him for a while, and he knew without his trail he was likely harder to track down. 

He took a moment to think about how screwed he was. He had his knife, but his bow had been strapped to his pack, as was all of his food and clothes. He had Derek's jacket so he had some additional protection, but he knew he was desperately vulnerable if any of the fae found him in the night. 

He couldn't decide if he should make his way back towards the Talbot house through the rocky cliffs and hills, or to press on into the night. 

He thought about Derek and that decided for him. He couldn't leave without warning Derek about Kate. 

He started to make his way in the near darkness, creating only a very slight haze of light near the ground in front of him to see where he was going, and which he hoped wouldn't be too visible from any distance away. 

He heard a roar in the night, a chilling sound that sounded like an angry cat only deeper and more primal. He hesitated, unsure what kind of fae it might be. In the trees below the rocky cliffside, he could hear something moving. 

He wondered if another of the hunters could shift to a form like the manticore, or if Kate had some way of breaking his limitation even without sunlight. 

He was torn by indecision, to warn Derek or to flee from whatever was in the trees. 

He wondered if with his hearing Derek had heard whatever made that sound, or if he'd chased Brett and Lori's trail far enough it was out of his range. 

For the first time since he'd found the Hale House in the woods he was truly alone. He was being chased by hunters, and possibly a very pissed off monster, and he was getting really really hungry. 

Finally, hesitantly he turned around and headed back towards the west. He hoped Derek had heard the roar, hoped he would catch the scent of Kate or the horses, but if it was Matt he'd heard, he didn't know if he could survive another encounter with him and the hunters alone. 

He wove around the rocks, focused on heading west. He wasn't even sure Heather was there anymore, but he needed to get away, and the ocean was close, far closer than distant Beacon Hills. He still had to know if Heather was really there, or he knew he'd wonder for the rest of his life. 

He took a moment and visualized the trees around the Talbot house, trying to hold them in his head as he called a dozen gossamer threads of power into being, then let them multiply and multiply again, coaxing each one into a wisp of light and power, and sent them racing aimlessly through the woods. He heard the scream again, and smiled for a moment. Let Matt chase those distractions for a while. 

He set off again, moving more confidently across the rocky hillside. 

Hours passed as he made his way through the night. Eventually he'd had to return to the valley floor near the river as the hills and cliffs grew steeper and eventually impossible to pass through. Every so often he'd hear something or sense something in the night, but whatever they were they avoided him, and he wondered if he seemed dangerous to the fae in the night for some reason, thinking about what Derek had said about the feel of his power. He tried to reach out with his mind, to feel the things in the night the way they might feel him. 

He'd paused to take a drink of water from a spring tumbling down the hill when he felt something new. It felt red. That was the only way he could think of it. He concentrated on the feeling, trusting the sense wasn't his imagination, but some new manifestation of his own power called up by need, or maybe just the awareness that such a sense existed. 

The sense of red deepened, and he got a sense of furious anger, and the hot pursuit of prey. The desire to kill and destroy for the pleasure of it. 

More certain than ever that this must be the manticore, he started to hurry again. He couldn't tell how close it might be, but he pulled the illusion of shadow around him tighter and fled through the night. 

Less than another hour went by when he was sure he could hear something behind him. A thud at times and occasionally a low growl. And then he ran out of the trees he'd been running through and the ground was replaced with exposed rock and loose stone, slowing him down again. 

He heard a noise behind him again and looked back, seeing the manticore break through the treeline, and not far behind him, the four horses and the hunters. He glanced around looking for anywhere to hide, and finding nothing he looked at the river, but here so close to the coast it was broad and deep and slow moving. 

Suddenly he felt a prickling sensation all around him, different from the red rage of the manticore not far away, this was darker and colder and far more powerful. It made him think of graves and dead things, like death itself was walking nearby, and he wondered if it was an omen of his own imminent demise. 

He turned to check on the hunters and the manticore that were getting closer, and he moved towards the river, just as he heard a sound behind him. It might have been a scream., If you amplified it and turned it up past max volume, it felt like it had weight and structure and power beyond belief as it swept past him towards the manticore and the hunters. He turned, ears still ringing to see the manticore rear up clutching it's head and roaring it's terrible furious cat sound, and then he heard the answering scream of whatever was behind him in the darkness unseen. The horses screamed as well, as they shifted in their course and bolted. He turned back toward the unknown and ran toward it, praying that it wasn't something even worse than the hunters and manticore, but unsure what worse than certain death might be. 

A third scream tore through the darkness and swept past him, and this time he thought his ears must be bleeding, that this was a sound that could kill him, and wondered what he was running toward. Behind him the manticore fell silent, though Stiles was certain it wasn't dead, and he kept running forward. 

The darkness flared to life with a cold light, faint and ominous, and he could see the shape ahead of him. It looked like a girl, though he couldn't see her clearly. Behind her were an array of dark and uncanny shapes, like nightmares brought to life. He realized her scream had torn apart his covering illusion, and knew she must be able to see him. 

He kept running, more afraid of Matt than any unknown fae creature. But when he got closer, something about the girl looked familiar. He stopped running, finally recognizing her.

“Lydia?” he asked when she got closer, "Is that you?" The red of her hair was stripped of its color under the uncanny light, but her face was indistinguishable.

“Stiles Stilinski?” she replied incredulously, looking as shocked to see him as he was to see her, the looming shapes behind her blurring and vanishing. "What are you doing here?" 

“Running away from a pack of murderers," he said, and pointed in the direction of the vanished manticore and hunters. "But you seem to have saved me for some reason. So thanks for that." 

"I was called," she said looking at him closely. "What happened?" 

"I don't even know where to start," he said finally. "I left home to find Heather, the manticore, his name is Matt, he told me he had seen her. That she was part of a compound near the coast." 

"I've met him," Lydia said darkly, "And she is. I live there too." 

"Really?" Stiles said, happy for some slight good news. "Okay, so that's good." He gathered his thoughts, “So I left to find her, to go, you know, see her." 

"Stiles, it's dangerous out here!"

"Well, I know that!" he replied, "But I have a spark, I'm not an idiot."

"A spark," she said. "You have more than that, but I think I can see where this is going." Then asked, "What did he tell you?" 

"Matt, nothing," Stiles said, "I think he planned to find me along the way though, that he had something he wanted from me, but Boy sort of screwed up that plan." 

"Who's Boy?" she said.

"My dog," he said, "my—" Then suddenly something one of the Hunters had said hit him, and all the pieces fell into place. Boy. Derek. His senses. The comment and coldness from Araya Calaveras. 

"Oh my god," Stiles said, his whole mind rearranging as all the facts slotted together. "They're werewolves." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally Stiles!  
> I don’t think he’s been slow to put it together, but more that he’s been running on a particular track of thought and it’s finally gotten the right piece to knock it loose.  
> And Lydia. My god, I’ve been waiting to bring her in for AGES. I adore her.


	11. Chapter 11

Lydia, as it turned out, was alone. The lurking shapes had vanished, there was no army at her back. Just her own power at play. 

"Oh my god Lydia, you can't lecture me about wandering the world alone when you're doing the same thing." 

"Most of the wild fae fear me," Lydia said. "They feel the weight of my power and it keeps them away." 

"I can feel it too," Stiles said. "It felt like I was running toward death, like darkness and the cold of the grave." 

"Yes. Everything fears death," Lydia said with a firm tone, "Which keeps me safe," she looked at him, "except you, you ran towards me." 

"Well, it was more I ran from what I knew was certain death from Argent and her hunters and the manticore," Stiles said, "And only the fear of death in front of me. Besides you didn't feel deadly in my head, only dangerous and cold." 

"Still, it's intriguing," she said, “even the wolves are leery of me, and their reaction to most things is to run in claws out." 

"Wolves. You mean werewolves right?" Stiles said. "The Talbots?" 

"Among others," she said. "There are a few other packs the Argents haven't killed off yet. But the Talbots took me in after the Event. Helped me figure out my powers. I felt them die, but I was far enough away I didn't get specifics." She looked unbearably sad, and Stiles took her hand in his. "I felt their deaths. The better I know someone the stronger it is." 

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said sincerely. "Derek was going to track down Brett and Lori. He said they survived." 

"Derek Hale?" she said, "And I suspected they were still alive, since I didn't feel them die. I came to bring them home with me." 

"He—” Stiles paused, still trying to fit everything he had experienced into his changed perspective. "Werewolves. God," he said, "Yeah, Derek Hale. I found the ruins of the Hale House. I met Derek, but thought he was a dog, Laura's dog." 

"Not entirely inaccurate," Lydia said, "He used to escape into wolf form to escape her bossy overbearing sister tendencies." 

"He stayed with me. After I left. I thought he was a dog who'd been changed by the Event. Like the harpies, or the octacles." They sat on a log and he told her the whole story of the trek downriver, and the first encounter with Matt, then the night in the river and Derek, and then the Talbot house.

"He's still alive," Lydia said. "They all are. I killed one of the hunters but no one else close by has died tonight." 

"That's good," Stiles said. "I—" he hesitated, "I'm afraid he'll think I left him again." 

"He won't," Lydia said confidently, "It's a little scary how much they can figure out from scent." She stood up, "He'll come find you I suspect. He followed you this far, he'll keep following you." 

"Why though?"

"Wolves are pack creatures," she said, "And for whatever reason, by his actions, he thinks of you as his pack." 

There was something she wasn't saying, Stiles thought, and he wondered what it was. 

"C'mon Stilinski," she said looking back down at him, "Let's get back to the compound before sunrise." 

He felt her power stir, and half -sensed shadows slipped away into the night.

"What was that?" he asked.

"You could feel that?" 

"A little bit. It was like shadows rushing out into the night." 

"That's an accurate description," she said. "I'm impressed you could sense it though." 

"What was it though?" 

"I sent Heather a shadow to let her know I was bringing you back with me, so it's not a surprise. Then, I sent several shadows forward to scout out where we're going. I don't like surprises." 

"Wow, okay, that's pretty cool," he said.

"With a spark as strong as yours you should be able to do the same thing," she said, looking puzzled.

"I mean maybe," he said. "All I've really used it for is fire and cold and things like that. Some illusions, but not that could carry messages or anything." 

"Heat and cold are the basics of the spark. Being able to craft illusions though, that indicates you have the potential to do far more. You have subtlety as well as power." 

"I found—” he hesitated and she gave him a look.

"The Hale House. The ash from it could be used to give my illusions weight and substance." 

"White ash tree," she said nodding. "It's a protective tree, before the Event a lot of Pack houses were built with it. It's also magically sensitive. Other kinds of powdered ash tree or fired ash can have different effects. Like the mountain ash properly prepared can be used to ward and protect. I have a book you can read to learn some of them." 

He stumbled over a rock. "Dammit," he muttered, and called a pale ghostlight into being. 

They walked and talked and the time passed quickly. The dawn was just starting to lighten the sky when he started to hear something. 

"That's the ocean," he said in surprise.

"The compound is built into the cliffs," Lydia said, then added, "I should warn you, some of the people are—” she hesitated and more information Stiles had picked up came together ahead of her next statement.

"Fae," he said, "You're all fae. It's a fae compound." 

"Yes," she said. "You won't be in any danger, I promise." 

"This is what Matt wanted me for," Stiles said, thinking about the potential of fire as a weapon. 

"I think so," she said. "He came here, months ago. using his manticore status to keep us from being suspicious. He made friends with Heather, and some of the rest of us. Learned our defenses, learned our weaknesses." She looked at him, "Built into the cliff we're fairly well defended against even hunters, but a spark of your strength—” She shook her head, "There's no one here with your power. Most of those that are that strong are among the wildest and most dangerous of the fae." 

"You seem pretty strong, whatever you are," he said with a smile.

"Banshee, and I am strong. But there are others," she said, "Some deadly, some are far more dangerous. The hunters aren't the only thing we have to fear." 

He nodded his head. "It makes sense," he said, "I should have realized he was drawing me out of the pod, I'm sort of an idiot." 

"Not an idiot," she said, "but too trusting maybe." 

"And I should trust you?" he asked.

"No," she said. "Not unreservedly. I have my own agenda, my own priorities. Just like you do. But we're not enemies either." 

He thought about it for a minute, "Okay, that makes sense." 

They kept walking in silence as he tried to put everything into its new perspective. 

*****

The compound was guarded; he was surprised to see at first, though when Lydia introduced him to them, they were quick to let them through. As they had walked, Lydia had told him that the settlement was actually a mix of human and fae, and within minutes of entering they’d encountered a wide variety from some who couldn’t pass as human at all to those who could be human. Lydia had been close lipped about what, if any, transformation Heather had gone through, though he already knew she was in charge. After his encounters with the Argents and the Calaveras, he wondered if Heather led because of just her intelligence and an unknown power, or if there were other factors at play like maybe ‘not being an evil fucker.’

His new sense of the world wasn’t particularly helpful, overwhelmed as it was by the myriad of people around him, and he was busy sorting through impressions of power and intent, as he tried to focus on the physical world he moved through. 

It was obvious immediately that Lydia clearly ranked high in whatever social order had formed. Which made him more optimistic considering the formidable intelligence he’d noticed through the night. Combined with her potentially lethal abilities and a strong sense of right and wrong, it spoke well of the compound. 

They made their way past multiple stairways and halls branching off in a bewildering fashion, and his mind was constantly sensing the presence of a cascade of different auras, and he found himself sorting them out, and was glad to see they were mostly all positive. Curious, happy, content for the most part. It felt normal, and he wondered what the Argent compound would have felt like if he’d known the sense was there.

Ahead of him he could feel one aura burning with a pure light, blazing, no sense of anything specific like the manticore or Lydia had, and wondered who or what it might be.

When they emerged into the inner courtyard that looked out on a small enclosed cove, he realized what he'd been sensing. A vast tree grew in the courtyard, radiating a serene majesty and a sense of deep peace. He almost missed the person standing near it, which was strange since she was what had drawn him out onto this adventure in the first place. 

"Stiles," Heather said, "It really is you!" She stepped forward and pulled him into a tight hug, before leaning back, and it was so familiar, such a part of the lost time before the Event, some impulse of habit from years before made him brush a kiss onto her lips. 

He froze as soon as he realized what he'd done. "I—” he said, "Oh my god." He was horrified.

"Stiles, I'm sorry," she said stepping back instantly, "But I'm—”

"No," he said, mortified, "I came to see you. Not—” he started to say, "I thought— Fuck! Nevermind." He turned and rushed out of the room, mortified at what he'd done. Then he had sounded like some weirdo instead of just admitting he'd fucked up. Now he probably looked like he had been holding onto some weird six year dead relationship, instead of just hoping— 

He wasn't sure what he'd hoped for. Some sign of a future. 

He slowed, unsure of even exactly where he was, and stopped and leaned against the wall of the hallway he'd found himself in. In a moment's flash, he realized that he'd already sort of found what he was looking for. Change. Hope. Belief in the future. It wasn't ever really rekindling a long dead relationship he'd wanted, it was simply hope. 

And his whole trip had given him that. It had given him a future and yes, the world of that future was stranger than the one he'd been born in, but it wasn't all new. Maybe he'd always had some hint of power, and whatever the Event was, it had just turned it up to a ten, like Gerard had said. 

If werewolves had always been, then surely other things had been real before.

But first, he owed Heather an apology. 

He flung his spark sense into the world and found that tower of calming power and tried to ignore it, searching for the lesser light that said 'Heather' and followed it through the labyrinth of the compound. He avoided the places where he could sense other people, not ready to run into strangers and be delayed while he explained himself. 

He finally found Heather high in the upper rooms on the seaward side, staring out towards the ocean in a room that also looked down onto the inner courtyard with the tree. 

"Heather?" he said, and she turned to look at him. 

"Hi Stiles," she said quietly, before looking away again. 

"Am I disturbing you?" 

"No, I'm just—” she shook her head, "Nevermind." 

"No, I don't want to bother you. I just wanted to apologize. That was—” He shook his head, "That was unacceptable. And I didn't intend it the way it came out. It was like a habit and I didn't even think it through. But that was still—” 

She nodded, her body relaxing slightly. "It's not that I'm not glad to see you," she said. "I've thought about you since the Event. Your dad too. But things are different." 

"I know," he said, "Really." 

"Okay, then let's try this again." She stepped closer, holding out her hand, "It's really good to see you again." 

"You too," he said, taking it and giving it a shake. "Dad wanted me to tell you hi if I did find you." 

She pulled her hand free and stepped back towards the bench she'd been sitting on and gestured for him to sit with her. "How did you find me?" 

"Lydia told me you know Matt Dahler," he said, and her face closed up. 

"Yes," she said simply.

"Yeah, me too. He came to our pod. We got drunk and—” He thought back to that night, trying to piece together how the conversation had gotten around to Heather. "I'm not sure how you came up. And he said he knew you. He said you were single, and sort of like me, just sort of looking for a purpose." 

She shook her head. "I have a purpose." She gestured towards the tree. "You're fae enough that you can probably sense her." 

He nodded, "It's like a beacon of peace." 

"Yes., Heather said, "She calls to us and pulls us together."

"What is she?" 

"My heart, I think," Heather said. "This is where we were when the Event happened. Dad and mom wanted to see the ocean one last time if the bombs didn't work. When I woke up the next morning she was there, already a small tree, and she's grown bigger ever since." 

"Wait, so you're, like, tied to the tree?" 

"Tied. Married." She shrugged. "I feel anxious if I get more than a mile or so from her. I've never gone much past that." 

"Wow," he said, marveling at the strangeness of the new world all over again. He wondered about the other fae. Not the monsters that people talked about, but the ones who were just too strange to pass as human.

"So Matt found you," she said, getting him back on track, "And convinced you I was in danger?" 

"No, just that you were here, and might be glad to see me. He definitely underplayed it just the right amount."

She laughed, and he continued on, telling the story of his trip, and Boy and Derek, and the Hunters. About Matt as the manticore, and the night in the river. It was easier after telling Lydia, without the 'oh my god, Derek' freakouts. 

Heather listened, asking questions occasionally, especially about the hunters with Kate. 

"Lydia says she killed one of them," he finished.

"There's more," she said. "The nearby packs have been tracking them. A couple of the wild fae that aren't overtly hostile have dropped by warnings. They're out there and they're coming, probably soon." 

"How many of them are there?" 

"Maybe a hundred," she said. "It's hard to keep track, they're trying to stay hidden and move around." 

Almost as many people as lived in Heather's colony. Kate had amassed an overwhelming small army. He wasn't sure if even working together they could stop what was coming, but he knew he had to try, even if it killed him. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s so close to done!   
> Next chapter... well, you can guess. 
> 
> My amazing beta reader Snowqueenlou read the first draft of this chapter and accused me of diving off into the Silmarion territory. Which was... not inaccurate. I had some headcanon I’d been waiting to drop for 25,000 words, and finally did.   
> And it didn’t work. It set up things I wasn’t going to explore. But I like version 2.0 better. It’s less weird, but it’s a cleaner chapter.   
> I was sad to lose the hints about Lydia’s reputation though. Alas. It’ll get recycled somewhere else no doubt.
> 
> Comments and kudos are life of course. And let me know if you have any questions about the world outside of what we see. I have so much headcanon about it.


	12. Chapter 12

They only had two days to prepare. 

Stiles spent time with Lydia learning what she could teach him about his spark powers, and developing what he already knew. She taught him how to lean into the tree’s well of power, so his own wasn't diminished as fast, but that ability was limited. 

He wished almost constantly for the canister of white ash that had been in his backpack. The things he learned made him aware of just how potent a weapon he'd had. If he'd known how to use it better he could have stopped the manticore in a much more lethal way than freezing it. 

Lydia's banshee scream wasn't as affected by the sunlight as his own powers were, losing some strength, but still enduring better. 

Very few of the fae had abilities that had any real use offensively, especially during the day, but Lydia and Heather had years of honing those abilities to the best possible weapon. This wasn't the first time the settlement had been attacked, though the sheer number of the hunters was daunting. Stiles tried hard not to wonder if Val or anyone he knew would be involved. 

He perfected creating illusion copies of himself and Lydia and Heather, though he knew without the ash there was almost no chance to keep a complex spell going in direct sunlight. 

He wished for a fae like Stormcaller, who could summon clouds to block out the sun, so he just had to hope that the attack, when it came, was after the sun had peaked and started to fall behind the high cliffs the compound was built into. 

He also met other people in the colony, and they were just like he'd thought, mostly peaceful, mostly happy with having a community to be safe in. The more he met, and the more stories he heard, the more he hated the Argents and all they stood for. 

When the attack started, they heard it before they saw it. There was a low moaning sound that filled the morning air, before it cut off abruptly. 

"Nadia," Heather said as she turned toward the front gates. 

"It's now," Lydia said. "Nadia and Daniel are gone." 

Stiles had a vague memory of the two fae, but his heart ached for the loss his friends must feel. They all started towards the third story and it's larger windows, over the tiny windows on the second level, and trusting the guards at the gate to get them shut.

Below them the manticore roared and rushed forward, ripping into the heavy wood of the gateway, but the long lances of the guard drove it back, and it roared its rage before starting to use heavy stones to smash through a section of wall not far away. Stiles sent wisps of illusion to distract and annoy it, but the bright sunlight cut them down to nothing before they could get to him. 

The hunters took shots at them when they got too close to the opening, but Stiles listened carefully to Lydia's directions and they stayed out of direct view. He knew the fae had few guns, and very little ammunition, and he cursed his lack of foresight again. He knew Parrish and Braeden had an enormous stockpile of guns and ammo and he hadn't even thought to ask about taking one with him. 

Above them a shadow moved, darkening the sky, and Stiles turned to look at where the sun had been, only to find a thick dark cloud rolling with unnatural speed over the horizon and a crack of thunder cut through the air. 

"What the—” Stiles started to say, when Heather jabbed him in the rib.

"There," she said, and pointed far behind the small army of hunters who were distracted by the incoming clouds, and didn't notice the shapes moving behind them at the treeline. 

It was too far to be sure, but he thought there was something familiar about the way one of them moved and it bugged him as his mind shifted gears. 

The manticore still tore at the section of the cliff he was working on, and Stiles sent a strong blast of freezing at it, not the concerted ability to freeze it solid, but enough to distract it while he regrouped and could focus on stopping the human problem. The manticore roared, and Stiles smiled, creating the illusion of a portion of the cliff tumbling down, and a small army bursting forth. He hoped no one realized that the figures all bore duplicates of the same ten faces he knew well enough to use on short notice, or that they made no sounds and left no footprints. Once again he cursed the lack of the white ash that would make the illusions an actual menace. 

He heard the hunters react and the sounds of hurried gunfire, but the roar of the manticore made him turn back to it. He called ribbons of cold up, and leaned into the power of the tree, feeling it lend its strength willingly. Beside him, he heard Lydia tell Heather to get back, and he plugged his ears as he pushed the forming cold towards Matt, wrapping the thing in a blanket of ice, feeling him stiffen and freeze once again. 

"They're illusions!" he heard one of the hunters say, just as a bolt of lightning struck the sand near enough that the sound overwhelmed Stiles' ears, even covered, which was followed by the unbearable scream of the banshee. 

The combination spooked the horses, but not in time to save the hunter Lydia had targeted, who almost exploded as her power coursed into him. 

"One down," Lydia said in satisfaction, which Stiles could mostly hear over the ringing in his ears. 

He saw the hunters that had been near Lydia's target reeling around, clearly disoriented from the power of her scream, and he sent a wisp of illusion towards them, wrapping their eyes in darkness, before he turned towards the next group and did the same, moving with speed as he could. He tried to find Kate Argent on horseback, when his eyes were drawn back to the treeline, as two giant dogs, wolves he realized, burst into view, followed by a third figure he recognized immediately, transformed though he was. 

Derek. 

Eyes glowing red as coals and claws out, Stiles could see the werewolf had something over his shoulder, and he realized it was his bag. A fierce hope burned to life inside him, and he shouted to Derek, "Open the canister!' 

The werewolf paused, still unseen by the hunters, at whom Stiles continued to throw strands of masking illusion. He finally saw Kate, who was using some kind of flashlight on one of the hunters he'd blinded, and he could feel the illusion weaken and fall off. So that's how she did it, he thought, then turned his eyes back to Derek who had opened the canister of ash and flung it into the air. 

The ash billowed and Stiles reached his power toward it and caught it, pulling it towards him. Derek dropped the lid and turned towards Kate, who had just noticed him and was reaching for her weapon, Stiles juggled the ash and threw a wisp of illusion around Kate's eyes, as he heard her scream in rage before shouting, "Watch out for the mutts!" just as the two fully shifted wolves plowed into the hunters. 

Beside him, Lydia had her hands raised, and a focused look on her face, and he realized she was raising the shadows. A darkness flooded the area like nightfall, as another bolt of lightning slammed into the sand frying several of the hunters. 

The cloud of white ash finally arrived, and Stiles twisted it into shape, hiding Lydia and Heather in illusion as he leapt out of the window and let the ash cloud catch him and bear him down. 

The shadows grew thicker though he could see Kate using her flashlight to try to get rid of it. When he hit the sand, he wrapped himself in illusion as well, before using the ash and illusion to create a guard of ten in front of him, solid and deadly. He armed them with spears like the fae guard used. 

He checked on Matt, who was freezing solid very nicely, and then flattened himself on the ground before inching forward behind his little guard, in the distance he could hear the occasional gunshots, though he didn't hear any bullets hitting the cliffside anymore. He wondered what the hunters were firing at. 

Suddenly a group of figures burst out of the shadows, at their forefront Kate, armed with what appeared to be a sword, and some of her hunters. 

The hunters fired on Stiles' little guard, and he could hear the bullets ricochet off their bodies, held together by his will. He was impressed that it even stopped bullets. 

The last guard in the line of his ash-illusions, which carried his own much practiced face, drew Kate's attention and she flung herself toward it, a look of towering rage on her face, and he pulled a thread of his coldest power from the manticore and doubled and redoubled it, filling his doppelganger with it. When she thrust her sword towards the figure she thought was him, he let it leap forward and wrap her tight, a well of cold and darkness not even all the fires she ever set could save her from. He felt her stiffen, and savored it. Felt her freeze in moments, felt the moment her heart froze solid. 

What he wasn't anticipating was Derek leaping out of the shadows and attacking her with a feral rage, howling and digging at her, Stiles pulled the ash away from her figure, and used it like a chain to tie down the hunters who had been being occupied by his guard. 

In the distance he could still hear the occasional gunshots. 

"Derek," he said softly, and the werewolf whirled towards the sound of his voice. 

Stiles let the illusion weaken for a moment, so Derek could see him lying in the sand. The werewolf leapt away from Kate, and landed in the sand mere feet away, Stiles stretched the illusion around the man who had already dove towards him on the ground. 

"Hey buddy," Stiles said. 

"Stiles," the man said, his breath hot as he pulled Stiles closer looking him over carefully. The frantic look on the man's face made a connection in the heavy beating of Stiles heart and a realization shot through him. 

Oh. Stiles thought, like he'd been hit by one of those lightning bolts. Oh. This is what this has been about the whole time. He felt stupid for not realizing it.

"It's me, big guy," Stiles said, overwhelmed by feelings he'd been ignoring until he couldn't anymore.

Derek paused, and Stiles could almost see the moment he realized Stiles wasn't the least surprised about the partial shift. 

"Yeah, so werewolves," Stiles said, glad to have something to say, "who knew?" 

"Stiles," Derek said, clearly uncertain. 

"We'll talk later okay, big guy?" Stiles said with a grin, "Let's kick these guys ass."

Derek nodded, watching him carefully. "Kate?" he asked. 

"Very dead, and a good trial run for what I'm about to do." And he shifted his attention to the remaining guards, filling each of them with a silent frozen intent. He turned to the balcony where he knew Lydia and Heather were still standing, though all he could see was the haze of his own illusion. 

"Lydia," he said, "pull back your shadows." 

And after a brief moment, she did. As the shadows lifted and he could see the hunters who'd been lost in it before, he sent his guard forward, guiding each one to its victim, most didn't even have time to call out. As the shadows lifted away, they froze one by one, and two by two, his assassins moving as fast as thought. 

Lightning sizzled in the air and struck one of the frozen hunters, shattering it and sending chunks everywhere. but the lethal group of icy assassins moved swiftly. In the distance he could finally see the gunfire at the edge of the trees, and each time a hunter fell. He realized they had more allies than whoever had called the clouds and controlled the lightning. He wondered who they were, and if they were truly allies or another problem.

Within minutes it was over. The sand was covered in dozens of frozen hunters, plus the ones the lightning had killed, and the ones bound up in the ash chain. His guard of lethal assassins waited for his guidance at what to do next. 

Stiles stood up, and let the illusions on he and Derek and Heather and Lydia fall. The only sounds left were the low sounds of voices in the compound, and the movement of the wind. He pulled the nine remaining assassins apart, and the ash poured toward him, and he let it hover around him like a cloud. 

Once he was sure the hunters were all dealt with he turned back to check on Matt, who was still frozen. 

"Stiles?" Derek said softly beside him, and all those racing thoughts vanished. 

He turned slowly, afraid of the look he knew would be in the werewolf's eyes.

Fear. 

But it wasn't there. 

There was something else in its place. Something he couldn't quite recognize. 

"Well," Stiles said, looking away, "that was deeply horrible." 

"You—” Derek looked around. "All of them, you—”

"Yeah," Stiles said, "Yeah I did." 

"Kate's dead." 

"Very very," Stiles said and turned to look as the gates of the settlement creaked open. 

"We're safe," Derek said.

"For now," Stiles replied. "Gerard is still lurking in that fortress in Beacon Hills. And this likely wasn't all the ones working with Kate. But yeah. Safer." 

The fear he'd expected to see on Derek's face was everywhere among the fae. He realized that there could be no place for him in the colony now. The little settlement had barely had a chance to meet him, let alone get to know him, and now, forever he'd be this. He'd touched their minds before. They were essentially peaceful people. It's why they'd answered the tree's call in the first place. He looked up at Lydia and saw that she understood what he’d done. It wasn’t fear he saw on her face, but instead it was what he already knew, that this could never be home for him. To drive the fact home, he only had to look beside her, where Heather was trying to hide that same look of fear. 

He turned back to Derek, who was still looking at him, and the recognition that Derek also still saw him, rather than the monster who'd killed almost a hundred hunters single-handed made him feel naked in a way he'd never felt before, and he wanted to pull the man closer and just hide in his acceptance until he could pull himself together. 

"This doesn't bother you?" Stiles asked him, looking around. Poking at his fear like it was a healing bruise. 

"I asked you before, if you could kill. You did what you needed to keep the pa—” Derek glanced around, "to keep people safe, not because you’re evil." 

"You can say pack you know," Stiles said, "It took me awhile, but I did finally figure out the whole werewolf thing." He looked at the older man, whose face had shifted back to look human, “Were you ever planning to tell me you were the dog?” 

“I’m a werewolf, not a dog,” Derek said. 

"Well I've never seen a wolf," Stiles replied, “So pardon me for not realizing the difference, and that’s not an answer.”

“No,” he said softly. “I thought I’d get you here, and make sure you were okay, and then leave.” 

"That's really stupid Derek," Stiles said, "How are you so smart with four legs and so dumb with two?"

Derek just gave him a long look.

"I told you, Boy was like my best friend, did you think that was going to change just because he can talk fluently in eyebrow and occasionally stands on two legs?"

"You came here looking—”

"I came looking for a future you idiot," Stiles said, "Why won't you believe that could be you?" 

"I don't have anything to offer anyone," Derek said, "I don't have a pack, no future." 

Stiles looked at where Brett and Lori had huddled up next Lydia who'd descended while he wasn't paying attention, "Don't you?" he said, "I think the only one who thinks you don't have a pack is you. And I'm asking you to be my future, if you missed that, to be my pack." He looked up at the man intently, "Unless I'm misreading things completely, in which case I'm an idiot I guess." 

"No," Derek said so low it was almost a whisper. "No. you're not wrong." 

"I do have some questions," Stiles said, "Like a thousand." 

"I'm not surprised," Derek said with a fond smile. 

"Like why were you such a jerk on the river." 

Derek looked at him incredulously, "You almost died Stiles, I was so pissed." 

"At me?" 

"No," Derek said, "At me. I didn't hear the hunters or the manticore until they were already there." 

"Oh," Stiles said, "I thought you were mad at me." 

"I have a lot of anger," Derek said, like it was a shocking confession, "I'm not always good at controlling it." 

A random question that had been bothering him since he figured out about werewolves hit him: "So where did you get clothes?" Stiles asked, "When you first showed up?"

"There's an old abandoned bunker, not far from the Talbots," Derek said, "Laura and I kept some clothes and stuff there for when we were visiting them. Different packs, it's hard to sleep under the same roof as them, so we'd stay there. Plus I needed to dig the arrow out." Derek smiled, “You completely missed the entrance when you were standing right next to it while you were looking for Boy." 

"Maybe you can show me sometime," Stiles said, trying to keep the conversation going.

"Maybe," Derek replied easily, seeming to relax the longer they talked. 

"Do you even like me?" Stiles asked, "Or is it some weird imprinting thing for werewolves?" 

"This isn't Twilight, Stiles," Derek said, and his annoyed tone was completely negated by the incredibly fond look Derek gave him. "We don't have mystical bonds or aren't seduced by scent or something." 

"Then what was it?" Stiles asked, "Like, something made you decide to leave with me."

Derek was silent for a long time, and Stiles had started to think he wasn't going to respond to him. "I saw you there," he finally said, breaking the silence. 

"At your house?" Stiles asked.

Derek nodded haltingly. "I was just watching you, and then I saw the fire. It made me think of the night they burned. I ran." 

"Your family?" 

Derek nodded. 

"I'm sorry," Stiles said. "I didn't realize-"

"No," Derek said, "I was—” he hesitated, "I had started to forget. It's something that happens if we go too far into the wolf. We don't forget, but the human side can sleep if there's nothing to anchor us to our humanity. And I had nothing left. After you went to sleep, I changed back for the first time since Laura died and I listened to you sleep. The next day, you weren't afraid of me." 

"I thought you were a dog!" Stiles said, "I called you dude." 

"I hate the word dude," Derek said, "Before the fire, Laura had a boyfriend who'd call me dude all the time. I don't think he ever bothered to learn my name." 

"How rude," Stiles said, "you should have ripped his throat out." He asked a question he was pretty sure he knew the answer to, "Your family, they were werewolves too?" 

Derek nodded, "It's why the hunters killed them. They used to have a code, but the Argents had abandoned it even before the fire." 

"And so you, like, fell for me when I gave you cheese and talked to you?" 

"No," Derek said, "But you tried to communicate with me even when you thought I was a dog. You saw me for what I was, not what you expected. And the way you used your magic, for protection, for fun, for utility, but not for cruelty. It said a lot about you. I liked what it said. And you're very—” Derek blushed slightly, "I like the way you look when you smile. I liked you." 

"I like you too," Stiles said and he smiled back, finally feeling confident, "a lot." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So two chapters in two days. Just one more and then the epilogue. 
> 
> I did originally plan for Kate to die in fire, but I liked the subtle Game of thrones reference of making it ice instead. 
> 
> This chapter ended up quite different than the original plan, and I like it better. 
> 
> Kudos and comments of course fuel me.


	13. Chapter 13

Derek went to check on the hunters Stiles had chained down, and Stiles was forcing the ash into the semblance of a walking stick, convincing it that it wanted to be solid again, rather than ash. Once it was done, he turned and looked towards the forest line, wondering when their unknown allies would appear, if they were allies and not just another form of danger.

"What are you thinking about?" Lydia said, coming to stand next to him.

"Wondering who was out there shooting," Stiles explained, "and wondering if that was Stormcaller or else some other fae with weather control powers that arranged that fortunate cloud cover. Any ideas?"

"I wasn't sure if they'd come," Lydia said, "I sent a message, but the wild fae, it's never a sure thing it'll get through." 

"So you did know," Stiles said. "They're not dangerous then?" 

"Not to us," she said. "And if it's who I assume it is, not to you either." 

"Friends?" he asked.

"Let's go find out," she answered, and they started across the sand towards the treeline. Derek fell in beside them when they passed, and Stiles smiled at him, and grabbed the man's hand. Derek looked startled, and then the tips of his ears blushed slightly, and he took Stiles' hand more firmly. 

As they walked Stiles could see movement in the forest edge, so they moved toward it, past the bodies of the hunters their mysterious allies had shot. He was impressed with the marksmanship since the hunters had obviously been moving fast.

They were almost to the forest edge when a familiar figure stepped forward.

"Parrish?" Stiles said in astonishment. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you really think your dad was going to let you do this on your own Stiles?" Parrish said, as Braeden stepped up beside him.

"Oh my god, dad sent babysitters to follow me?" Stiles said. "How embarrassing." 

"Not just to follow you," Parrish said. 

"I recognized Matt," Braeden said, "from my time with the hunters." 

A series of things ran together in his head, "You knew what he wanted." 

"I suspected," Braeden said. 

"Is this why you left the hunters?" Stiles asked.

"No," she said, "this is why I joined them in the first place." 

"You were a spy." Derek sounded like he approved, "Getting information on them." 

"Learning their tactics originally," Braeden said. "Then later I found out about the little army Argent was building, and eventually I met Jordan." 

"Wait, so all your overnight trips?" 

"Scouting missions sometimes. Rescue missions occasionally," she replied. 

"Does my dad know?" Stiles asked.

Braeden and Jordan looked at each other. "That's a conversation you should have with him," Jordan finally said. 

A woman stepped out from the trees behind them, and as soon as Stiles saw her he realized he'd been sensing her presence for hours, but he hadn't even realized it. Her power felt strange, like the air around him, but with a curious added tension he didn't notice until he saw her. 

"Stormcaller?" he said hesitantly. 

"I prefer Julia," she said, her dark hair swinging loose around her head. 

"Thank you," he said sincerely. 

"We fae have to stick together," she said serenely as she looked him over, and he could see when she noticed Derek's hand in his. "Besides, I owe Braeden a favor or two." 

Something in her voice made his skin shiver slightly, and he wondered to what end this woman might go to pay off a debt. There was something about her that stirred a slight distrust, and he wondered what it was, and decided he'd ask Parrish later.

Braeden and Parrish kept talking and Stiles listened, but he also kept thinking about Derek's hand and honestly just thinking about the werewolf.

Lydia invited the three unexpected allies to come back to the colony, and as they walked Stiles saw the frozen manticore against the wall, and wondered if it would be able to resist Parrish's flame. He thought not. And if so, well, lightning was almost certainly enough to deal with Matt for good.

  
  


"Come with me," Lydia said after dinner. "I want to show you something." Derek was talking with Parrish and Braeden, planning the trip back he suspected, and so he left him to his conversation and followed her.

She took him out onto the protected beach and they went across to the other side of the cliff, where he knew the colony hadn't built into the rock yet. But he saw an opening in the cliff. When they walked in, there were two girls he'd met his first day, both very weak sparks his senses told him, and he was sad to see the way they fled his presence. 

"I'm the bogeyman," he said to Lydia.

"You are," she said, "For now." she picked up a small familiar looking package of salt from a stack of them near the door and handed it to him. "You said yours got ruined in the river, so here." 

"Thank you," he said, then continued, "I hate it." 

"You never really get used to it," she admitted, "you just learn to ignore it." They turned and moved into another larger cavern full of equipment. "They know me as something other than my reputation, and they see me first, not my power. You don't have that, not here." 

"I wasn't even sure I wanted to stay," he said, "but I hate not having the option." 

"Give it time," she said, "Time for them to process it. Time for a reputation to build. Plus, Brett and Lori are staying, and I suspect that they'll help me work on your reputation with the colony while you're gone. I imagine the next time you visit, your reception will be very different." 

"Maybe," he said looking around,"What is all of this?" 

"This is what we provide in trade," Lydia said in her way, both direct and succinct, a challenge to use his brain and figure it out for himself, and he realized that he did know what it all was.

"Salt," he said. "You're harvesting sea salt."

"Salt," she acknowledged. "We have a system." 

"Those two sparks," he said, piecing it together. "Not that strong, but enough to boil water." 

"Enough to create a boundary so salt water simmers constantly," she said. 

"Would you like some help?" he asked, "Or would that just make the problems worse?" 

"It's always hard to predict," she said. "It took time for them to stop being afraid of me, and that wasn't about anything I did, but just the sense of my power. This is something different, they're afraid of what you did, and how easily." 

"You could have done the same," he said, "With your voice." 

"Not as easily or as quickly," she said, "and I can't infuse my shadows with the ash the way you can, but yes. The manticore would have been the bigger problem. He's not immune to my voice, but manticore are almost impossible to kill, and they're incredibly fast in short distances." 

"Did you know about her?" he asked.

"Julia?" Lydia said. "Not exactly. I knew of her of course, she's incredibly powerful, possibly the strongest of us I've heard of. But she's secretive. I didn't know she was involved in the cause, no." 

"But you knew Parrish?" 

"I know Braeden actually," Lydia said. "I only know of him through her. I suspect she is very nearly the center of the leadership of the fae cause."

"Even though she's not a fae?" 

"Who says she's not?" Lydia said startled. 

"I've never noticed—” he paused, "Oh god, is she?" 

"She's the one who first felt your spark," Lydia admitted. "Years ago." 

"When she was just a hunter who visited on occasion?" 

"Exactly. She's not powerful exactly, but her power allows her to track and evaluate the power of others." 

"Useful." 

"Yes. She's also saved many, many fae from the Argents by being able to locate them faster than the Argents. We have a network of spies in the old school hunter community. They let us know if the Argents are getting too close."

"Gerard is still there in Beacon Hills." 

"He lost Kate, who was his attack dog," Lydia said. "Chris is obedient, but tries to follow their old code at unpredictable intervals. He's too unsure a weapon for Gerard to trust." 

"We'll need to deal with him eventually," Stiles said. 

"Yes, but we have time. He's a plotter, so we have time to figure out the best way to deal with him, without harm to the larger community in Beacon Hills."

"You can count on me," he said. 

"I had hoped so," she admitted. 

"I keep thinking about what's next," he said, "None of this feels like the end of anything." 

"It's not," she answered, "In fact, I think I think it's just the beginning."

He realized he had indeed found, in every way that mattered, exactly what he'd been searching for. "The future," he said, and smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s it except the epilogue, which I’m posting immediately after this. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

Epilogue 

There are events in our lives that ink themselves onto our souls so permanently they can never be lost. That moment on the beach was one of them. I'd taken so many lives, but I didn't feel the slightest guilt because Kate was a mass murderer and a terrible person; she deserved to die, and so did those hunters who followed her willingly. But that callousness still bothers me. Does it make me a monster?

Derek says no, and that he understands. But I'm not sure he does. He told me about his family, about what Kate had done. And how she'd come back later to, as she said, 'Clean up her mess.' But his guilt over his family isn't the same as the guilt I feel for not feeling anything. And anyways it's stupid he blames himself. It was all the fucking Argents that did it. 

I tried to feel something besides relief as we stood on the beach and watched Parrish light the manticore. I knew it was Matt who was on fire, but I still felt nothing. As it turns out, I was right, not even a manticore is immune to those flames. 

I know everything now, or at least I think I do. I can't believe that I lived in the center of the fae cause since the event and missed it completely. So much for my supposed powers of observation. 

Brett and Lori moved here a few months after the battle on the beach. Wolves are pack creatures, and it’s good for them, and good for Derek. Brett hates Theo as much as I do, and Lori and Malia are becoming really close. They both think Jackson is the best, so, well, there’s no accounting for taste.

Lydia stops to visit now when she's in the area, which is often. She and I have plans for Gerard Argent, now that I understand my abilities better. She's taken me to meet a few more of the pro-human fae. They call themselves the seelie, like in the mythology. Now that I'm in the know, I think my dad might be interested in one of the local deer wives, or maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part. She's pretty awesome and I still want him to find happiness again, and I think my mom would want it too. 

I’ve encountered a few of the wild fae now, and some of them are just as terrifying as Lydia had said. The sheer variety of creatures in the world astounds me. One of the wild fae that is friendlier than most mentioned a family of Japanese fox spirits that live not far away. Derek and I are already planning to track them down, and he says he remembers one visiting his mom when he was younger, so hopefully there are more allies to be found.

Derek and I, well, it's difficult but worth it for both of us I think. He smiles more, though you have to know when to look to see it. We still argue pretty much all the time, but then we make up. He smiles a lot, then. I still don't know what the future holds, but I am here, and living it, so I guess that's all the happily-ever-after I ever needed. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is that. 
> 
> I like the way it ends like it is the first chapter of something new, because that’s how I like my post apocalyptic stories, the death of an old world and the start of something new.
> 
> It’s very likely I won’t come back to this setting, but I’ve learned not to say never. Next up I’ll be finishing ‘out of the ashes’ and ‘I am not iron man’. 
> 
> Thanks to Snowqueenlou for making me not look illiterate, and for arguing with me about salt among other things.
> 
> And to Kalika_999 for letting me pursue this plot bunny. I hope you loved it!


End file.
